Saint
by Koch
Summary: Three years after his family's death, the Warden Commander of Ferelden is once more embroiled in a plot to kill him and everyone he cares about. Is this just the plot of an ambitious noble, or is there something more sinister behind it all?
1. Chapter 1

The evening sun peeked out from over the battlements, casting purple-tinged rays of orange on the shields and livery of the guards there, making them seem somehow mythical. They were anything but, Lance knew.

He was feeling much more relaxed now, having left Ser Gilmore somewhere in the dark depths of Castle Highever, still stumbling around trying to find his charge. It would be quite embarrassing for him later, trying to explain how it was he lost the young noble in the winding passages.

Lance smirked to himself.

It wasn't that he disliked Ser Gilmore, per se, but he didn't appreciate the knight breathing down his neck every second of the day and trying to play it off as though he weren't ordered to.

Now, Lance was not a troublemaker – not by any stretch of the imagination. He was pretty sure. But there were times when he got bored, and boredom creates mischief. And the sort of mischief he got into was often the sort that didn't reflect well on his parents.

No, the Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever didn't want their son scandalized before he'd even sat on the throne.

Lance got bored often. He'd gotten bored at one of his mother's salons, and perhaps drank too much wine. There was a bit of awkwardness with Delilah Howe and now she didn't care for him. He'd gotten bored in Denerim and there been some confusion with the guards there.

He'd gotten bored with himself, and that had led directly to where he was now, sneaking into the castle larder.

"Hello?" he whispered, spying his ladylove sitting nervously on a table. She smiled at him, a quick, wavering thing.

Marna stood up, pushing back a lock of red hair behind her pointy Elf ears. It was taboo for them to be together. Plenty of people – plenty of noblemen – still thought Elves were beneath humans and so didn't deserve the dirt that stained their clothes.

The Couslands disagreed. The Elves had fought alongside Maric in his rebel army, and had been instrumental in the defeat of the Orlesians, or at least that was how his father told it. Lance hadn't been raised to have the same distaste of Elves his peers did.

Quite the contrary, he loved this particular Elf.

He grinned big, strode over to where she stood and lifted her up, arms tight around her waist.

"I was starting to miss you," said Lance, setting her down on the table and gently nudging her knees apart.

He began to kiss her, and she reluctantly returned it, gently urging him away so that she could speak.

"I have something to tell you," she said. He didn't reply, instead he moved on to her shoulder and neck, reaching up to tug her blouse open. She let him, hoping he would be more inclined to listen.

"This is something you might want to sit down for," she said.

"Nope," he replied, having trouble with the first button on her blouse. She put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away to give herself room to speak.

"Lance, I'm serious," she said. And he suddenly felt very uneasy.

"What? Are you okay?"

"No," she said. And then suddenly, "Yes. I'm fine. But I'm not. I mean, this is good. But it's bad. But it's fantastic."

Lance stared, a bit slack-jawed. "What?"

She took a breath, hesitant. He reached out for her, held her, pulled her close. She found comfort in that, reassurance. She knew him well. He would not hurt her.

"I am with child," she said simply, her cheeks flushing. Lance didn't say anything at first, creating a rush of fear. Would he push her away? Would he insist that the child was not his? Would he even kill her to protect himself, his family?

And then he grinned, laughed. He scooped her up, spun her around.

"I'm going to be a father!" he declared, and lifted her up. She was laughing now, so glad, so relieved. He pulled her against him, kissed her.

"I'm so relieved," she said. "I'm so happy."

"Wow," he said, putting her down. "This is incredible."

"What will we do?" she asked. "How will we tell your parents?"

"Do we have to tell them?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, brow furrowing. "I think it will come up."

He made a slight groan, and then smiled big at her. And then he dropped to one knee.

"I don't even have a ring," he whispered. Marna felt her heart flutter, felt a rush of nervous excitement.

"Marna," he said. "Will you marry me?"


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was bright, midmorning, when he opened his eyes. His new bedroom in the Vigil was high up in the westernmost tower of the castle, and so he rarely got to see the morning sun before he was up and getting ready for the day.

Today was different, though. He'd been given the opportunity to sleep in, to relax. It was rare for him and very welcome.

Lance Cousland wiped the sleep from his eyes, and scanned his room, smiling to himself at how ornate and plush his surroundings were, how uncharacteristically rich everything was. Anyone that knew him well would know that he didn't care for that sort of luxury, despite his privileged upbringing. It was just a quirk of his.

Of course, he hadn't been the decorator. No, this time last year he was sleeping in a much smaller cell much lower in the tower. He hadn't bothered to decorate then, leaving everything as bare as it had been when he decided to live there.

So much could happen in a year.

No, he was doing alright now. The Arl of Amaranthine, Warden-Commander of Ferelden. Everything was okay now.

He stretched lightly, buried his back into the soft bed that he now slept in.

Morrigan stirred, made a content sound in her throat, nuzzling him in her sleep.

He grinned to himself, allowed a small chuckle as he turned on his side to better face her, to hold her hand even as she reached out to find him.

She furrowed her brow, dreaming. Not for the first time he wondered what she was thinking of, what she was dreaming about. He hoped it was him. He hoped it was nice.

It was so strange to see her like this, to see her dreaming in such an innocent, vulnerable state. She wore an air of confidence throughout the day, ready to mock anything that didn't live up to her standards of self-reliance and strength. She was gifted with a sharp tongue, a keen mind, and she had no qualms about using them to insult.

But here she was, sleeping, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smile.

He couldn't help but reach up, touch her smooth cheek, trace those full lips with his thumb.

"Wake up," he whispered. She didn't hear him. "Wake up, beautiful."

That got a response. She took his hand, squeezed it lightly. She didn't open her eyes though, she wasn't _really_ awake.

Lance wriggled down, put himself eye-to-eye with her. He kissed her, lightly.

"Are you awake yet?"

She smiled, but refused to open her eyes.

She said, "No."

Lance grinned even wider. He tried to cuddle closer to her, but she simply turned on her side, put her back to him.

"Don't play hard to get," he said, and he began to kiss her shoulder amorously. She laughed, low and musical and just the sort of sound that set him off.

"I do not 'play'," she said. "I simply _am_."

"Oh, I don't think so," said Lance, moving to kiss her neck. She responded to that, even if she didn't want to. Just another one of those things about her he loved. It was hard to find much that he didn't.

"You would not," she said. She turned to lay on her back, to look up at him. "Normally… I would not play such games."

"Well I'm just glad to be the exception."

"You would be."

Lance stared down at her for a moment, into her eyes. He was in love, he realized again. He knew it, and told her often, but every morning it was like a new to him – the sudden realization that he was in love with her.

But he wasn't the first to say it, not this time.

"I love you," she said. And he grinned even wider. They kissed, spent several moments together.

"You want to have a good morning?" he asked. She rolled her eyes at such a question.

"_Yes_, my love," she said with exaggerated frustration. "I would indeed enjoy a 'good morning'. You must have unfathomable powers of perception."

"Do you know how sexy I find your sarcasm?"

"I suppose, then, that we are a… perfect match."

"Suppose so," said Lance and kissed her again. As usual, what was meant to be a simple gesture became more passionate, more insistent.

She moaned into it, and he was kicking away the blankets to allow himself easier access.

She wore a loose fitting shirt of his to bed, and he was lifting up the hem. He touched her flat, taut stomach, moving down to kiss her navel and other parts as foreplay. She sighed contentedly, reached down to massage his neck and encourage him.

There was a knock at the door.

Lance groaned.

"In the middle of something!" he called. Morrigan giggled.

"Not yet," she corrected. He narrowed his eyes at her but welcomed her mischief. He loved that.

"Sorry, Commander," said Velanna on the other side of the door. She was a good friend to him, and one-time lover, but she sure had one awful sense of timing. "I have an urgent letter to deliver."

"Again?"

"Yes, again."

"Damn," Lance muttered, moving to step out of the bed. He grabbed up his trousers from the floor and pulled them up. To Morrigan, he said, "Don't you dare go anywhere."

She simply smiled and impersonated an innocent girl. He knew better.

He opened the door, stepped out into the hallway where Velanna stood, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever embarrassing activities the two had been up to. She knew, of course, and just got a kick out of making him uncomfortable.

"What is it?" Lance asked her. She gave him that slight, sweet smile she so rarely offered. She pushed the envelope into his hands, the seal of the collective Bannorn shining bright red against the yellowed parchment.

"Oh, wonderful," said Lance. Velanna nodded.

"The _shemlen_ lords demand your attention."

He smirked at her joke. She'd long since given up hating humanity but she still liked to poke fun at the nobles Lance nominally controlled. He didn't blame her.

"Why me? Why don't they go bother Alistair?" he asked. Velanna snorted.

"You're the Hero of Ferelden. And their Arl. They think you can get done what they want done. It's sad, really."

"Sad for me or for them?" Lance asked and ripped open the envelope. He scanned the three page letter, not bothering to read it fully.

"Anything interesting?"

"Civil unrest, the usual," said Lance. "Well, no. Not _actual_ unrest. Just 'raised tensions'. They want me to send Grey Wardens to monitor the situation."

"Will you?"

"Just as soon as I find that elusive flying pig," said Lance. He crumpled the letter up in his fist. "Not my problem."

He turned to leave, but hesitated.

He tried to straighten out the paper, wring out the creases.

"Actually," he said. "Could you mail this on ahead to the King? Put a note on there that I don't want to deal with it?"

Velanna took the paper, stuffed it in her belt.

"Yes, sir," said with a mock salute. Lance winced at that. He wasn't much for ordering around his Wardens, especially not the ones he was close to.

"Sorry," he said. "I can do it myself."

"No, I'll do it," said Velanna. "You take it easy today."

Her gaze was suddenly soft, the look on her face somehow comforting and genuinely sympathetic. He wasn't quite sure _why_ but anytime he could get a sincere expression out of her was a victory in his book.

"Thanks," said Lance with a raise of his eyebrow.

Velanna nodded to the door.

"Your girl is waiting for you," she said. "Busy morning."

Lance grinned sheepishly. He turned and entered his room.

Morrigan lay there, blankets aside, with a come-hither look on her face.

"I hope you have settled your business," she said.

"I have."

"Then come here."


	3. Chapter 3

Bann Florek stood before the collected Banns, the nervous, fidgeting nobles. They were a collection of the most discontent, most dissatisfied nobles Ferelden had to offer. Quite a few were nobles under the command of Highever and Amaranthine. A few were from the far western end of the country, near Orlais. There was even a scattered few from the central Bannorn.

All had one thing in common: they hated the Grey Wardens.

Most had lost wealth, land and status to the Wardens' victory over Loghain. Some had lost it to the Darkspawn, to what they saw as the Wardens' inability to act soon enough. Those that had thrown their lot in with the late Arl Howe were now unwelcome in the courts of Ferelden and could be considered to have forfeited their titles with Howe's death.

Collectively, they hated Highever and Amaranthine.

Collectively, they hated the King.

Collectively, they were all his to control.

"My Lords and Ladies," said Florek, stepping down from his throne. "You are gathered here for one common purpose. You all share a common hatred. _We_ all share a common enemy."

"'_We'_?" demanded Bann Ceorlic. "I don't recall you losing anything during the Civil War, Florek!"

There was a brief murmur in the crowd of nobles. It was true, Florek had been a minor noble then – not even given the privilege of a vote in the Landsmeet – and was a nobody now. His parents had been Orlesians, appointed to their stations by the Usurper, only allowed to stay due to their support of Maric in the war.

He wasn't the most popular noble in the land, not by far. In fact, most of his peers didn't bother to acknowledge him as a noble. His Bannorn was small, barely a few acres in the central Bannorn, and his wealth was meager.

But he was very well-versed in politics. He knew that his voice in the Landsmeet would go unheard, and he knew that his sphere of influence wouldn't extend past his nose. But he was too smart for them.

He was too smart to try to overthrow Highever, not when the Couslands were at their zenith, and he was too smart to send his men south to Ostagar. He was left in a very strong position after the war, and few realized it.

He'd cut deals with a number of local bandits to leave his lands alone, to focus their attacks on other Banns. He'd quietly "acquired" land and men from those Banns who'd lost it all during the war. He was about to expand even further.

"You are correct, Ceorlic," he said, putting on his best apologetic frown. "But if I might point out I never was in any position to lose anything. I did not support a traitor. I did not hamper the defeat of the Blight."

Ceorlic frowned, sat down. He realized the truth of what was said. Ceorlic had lost a massive amount of power after that fateful Landsmeet two years ago. Since then, much of what he commanded was decaying, and he was barely holding onto his territory.

Florek cleared his throat, tried to continue.

"Lords and Ladies," he said. "These… Grey Wardens have ruined us. Whether or not we supported them in the war, they have ruined us. The King is a bastard, chosen as a last resort. The Queen controls this country, and she is a shrewd leader indeed."

"The Queen commanded when Cailan was King," said Bann Karstein. Florek nodded.

"Indeed she did," said Florek. "She is a smart, powerful woman. She openly disowned the Wardens and then she _marries_ one. Shrewd indeed."

That created another ripple of interest. Few had fully comprehended the strength and political know-how the Queen possessed until that moment. She had sided with her father yet still come out on top. The King was as much a king as Florek himself. He did nothing to govern this country. Nay, he was on the throne _because_ he was a Warden.

"Is it not strange that the Wardens are in command of this nation? Is it not strange that they command the total love and admiration of all without a single doubt?"

"The Wardens saved this country," said another Bann.

"Indeed they did, but does that mean we owe them our livelihoods? Our loyalty? The Wardens remain in the shadows for centuries, emerging to defeat the 'Blight' and slinking away just as soon. But not this once. Not now."

He paced across the front of the room, the nobles' eyes following him intently.

"The King is a Warden. The Arl of Amaranthine is a Warden. And his brother is Teyrn of Highever, second to the King – ah! I meant _Queen_."

The nobles glanced left and right. They all agreed. They needed little prodding.

"Lords and Ladies," said Florek. "Whether or not we like it, whether or not we permit it, the Warden Commander controls this nation!"

"The Teyrnir of Gwaren lies open!" declared a noble.

"Because they've yet to find a Warden to sit on its throne!" Florek shot back. "How long will it take? Who would argue if this Warden Commander were to be the Teyrn of Gwaren? No one! The Wardens would have their grip on this country and we – good _Fereldans_ – would no longer have a place in this world."

"You sound like Loghain did," said Ceorlic. "Right before he died. You sound just like a madman."

"You threw your lot in with that 'madman'," said Florek. "You evidently thought _he _had a chance at victory. You evidently thought _he_ was worth supporting. Or did you lie then, Ceorlic? Did you fail at even that?"

Ceorlic glanced around the wide hall, unable to find a noble willing to meet his gaze. Florek grinned to himself.

"Loghain had lost before he'd even begun," said Florek. "He couldn't face the Blight, nor could he face the Warden. When it came to his end, he couldn't even face the Maker."

The hall stayed quiet. Loghain was a hero in life, and there were few willing enough to insult the man after his death. That Florek would said much of his bravado.

"The Warden is the key. He is the _real _power, the strength of the bankrupt Theirin line. Alistair is not his father – he is not even Cailan. He is little more than the Warden's lapdog, eagerly gathering up whatever morsels of fame and victory the Warden can bring to him, perfectly content basking in the Queen's shadow."

Florek stopped pacing, turned on his heel. He crossed his arms, staring out over the collected nobles, smiling as though he'd already won. He oozed confidence.

"King Alistair need not break; there is not enough left _to_ break. But the Warden… Yes, he will break."

"What are you proposing?" asked a very irate Bann in the far back, looking as though he might walk out.

Florek sighed. "Two years ago not a soul in this world would touch you, none dare stand against you. Now, just the mention of the Warden's name sends chills down your spines, reminds you that your lives aren't even your own. You live at _his_ whim. You have your lands at _his_ fancy."

Florek cleared his throat, stood tall to make himself seem larger, larger than life even.

"Pledge your loyalty to me. Make _me_ your Teyrn, your King. And I _will kill_ the Warden."

There was silence.

And then someone laughed.

Ceorlic stood, clapping and laughing.

"I cannot believe I took time out of my week for _this_," he said. "Do you _know_ how many men have said these very words? Do you know how many have died for even trying? You cannot kill the Warden! There is no man that can."

"Oh, but I shall," said Florek. "I shall kill him."

Ceorlic narrowed his eyes.

"You are mad. Do you really think yourself the only man on this planet to have thought the same? Do you really think that you can kill what an entire army could not?"

Florek frowned. "I am the only one that can."

And he raised his hand before Ceorlic could speak. He silenced all questions, he silenced all dissent. He silenced Bann Ceorlic.

With a flick of Florek's wrist, Bann Ceorlic convulsed, muscles ripping themselves from their bones, body folding into itself. He screamed, an ear-splitting unbelievable sound that cowed each and every noble.

And then, with added flourish, Florek opened his hand, spattering the closest nobles with blood. What was left of Ceorlic fell to the ground in a large heap.

"I will kill this Grey Warden," said Florek. "I can. But you do not simply approach the Warden and try to defeat him. That is folly. You start from the bottom and work your way up."

No one spoke. The Banns were in varying states of shock – some unable to believe that he was a blood mage, some unable to believe Ceorlic was dead, and the rest that for once the dreaded Warden might not be invincible after all. Florek grinned as widely as he could.

"We kill his friends. Then we kill the Warden. When he is alone, when he is incensed by their deaths, when he hungers for vengeance, then we strike. Then we kill him."

"You want to war with the Warden?" asked a Bann. "You want to make an enemy of the Grey Wardens?"

"Yes! And I ask that you all stand beside me."

"How?"

And then a dark figure stepped from the shadows, cloaked and hooded.

"For that," said Florek, stepping aside so that the newcomer could take center stage. "You need the very best."

"And the most expensive," added the figure, his accent clearly marking him as an Antivan.

"An Antivan Crow?" someone asked. "That's been tried before. Several times before."

"No," said Florek. "The assassin is for his companions. When they are dead he will come to me. And then I will kill him."

"And why gather us here?" asked another Bann. "If you can kill him so handily, then why do you need us?"

"Oh, I need your money," said Florek. "As the Crow said, he is very expensive."

"Money? What little we have left?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"How much?"

"Half."

There was a ripple of noise. Excitement spread through the crowd, the Banns arguing amongst themselves. Florek raised his hand, summoning silence from all around.

"As the man said," Florek gestured to the assassin. "Antivan Crows are very expensive."

Bann William stood then, shaking his head.

"You expect all of us to hand you half of our treasuries? Just to kill one man?"

"No," said Florek. "I expect you to hand over half your treasuries to kill his friends. You will give me the rest after he is dead."

This of course summoned a loud shout from the nobles, arguments and discord. They shouted their discontent, those that weren't swayed by the bloody heap on the floor before them.

Florek grinned knowingly to himself. He had but to raise his hands once more and the crowd would still for him.

"Under me you shall rule," he said. "I will take care of my allies. You will have greater wealth than you can fathom, I promise you that. But I will need… collateral."

"With all due respect," said Bann William. "Ceorlic had a point… Many men have tried, and not one is here now. You ask a great deal of us."

The man was brave, standing as he did. Florek could turn him inside out. Or have him tear out his own throat. He didn't, though. Now was the time for diplomacy.

"I will kill this Grey Warden," said Florek. "I will be King. And each of you my vassals. And I demand tribute."

Bann William looked around, nervous. And he sat back down, silent. He had lost big in the war, between the Darkspawn and Loghain's soldiers. The Wardens hadn't done enough to help him. He hated the Arl of Amaranthine, the bastard. He hated the Couslands. He would pay. All he had and more if it meant making them bleed.

"We will do this," said one of the Banns. "If it means my father's death will be avenged, then we will do this."

"Indeed we shall," said another. "I pledge this."

Florek grinned wider at the chorus of affirmatives that followed.


	4. Chapter 4

Lance sat at the long wooden table in the mess hall, gobbling up the soup set before him. He was tired of it, really, having had it seemingly every day for the entirety of his life. Ferelden wasn't suited to very many kinds of livestock and so their selection was slim. Having actual meat in the Vigil was rare; the local farmers grew crops as opposed to raising livestock.

Occasionally they did get a good side of beef for the men, or a coup of chickens, but more often they had to make do with some fat simmering in water. This was one of those rare times where he was hungry enough to love it, having skipped breakfast on account of Morrigan.

She was seated across from him, thinking he didn't notice her smiling at him from time to time. He loved that about her. She could be sweet without realizing it.

He slurped nosily, something that caused Velanna to glare at him. She didn't say anything. She was seated near Oghren and so was used to it. The Dwarf was gulping down entire bowls of the stuff, and chasing it with foul-smelling beer. Lance wasn't a drinker, but he could tell that whatever it was, it was _not_ good alcohol.

The Wardens ate mostly in silence, shoveling down food like starving men. It was a side-effect of the Joining, or so Lance was led to believe. Regardless, he was hungry.

Nathaniel was the only one that didn't eat like a madman, still brooding despite the fact he'd long since gotten over his father's death at Lance's hands. Delilah Howe still visited from time to time, and she'd even started to like Lance a bit. That was something, wasn't it?

He thought once more about how far he'd come in the past two years, how many eons he'd trekked. It was a lot like he was a different person now. And he was. He really was.

He looked up at Morrigan, found himself smiling, and he glanced over at his friends, his men. He was a Grey Warden now. And not just any Grey Warden, but the Hero of Ferelden, the Warden Commander of Ferelden. He could scarcely believe it sometimes. He didn't feel very heroic, nor like a Warden Commander, but here he was.

And it felt good sometimes. It felt great.

He looked up at Morrigan, grinned lopsidedly. She returned it, cutting her eyes at him in mock annoyance. She pretended as though his affection bothered her, as though there was none between them. But she did little things that told him otherwise. She would sit close to him sometimes, put her arm around his.

She sometimes smiled to herself, or so he'd been told, when she watched him. She hummed – something that surprised him the first time. There were other things they did together; things that she insisted meant nothing.

She nuzzled him in her sleep, reached out to put an arm around him. She moaned in her sleep if she couldn't find him, and more than once had woken up in a startled state.

He could still remember the woman he met in the Korcari Wilds, the Witch. They hadn't gotten along. She'd been so obstinate and he'd been so arrogant.

And he loved her, wholeheartedly.

His mind flashed back to a darker time, a time without her, but he forced it out of his thoughts. He refused to think about it, to acknowledge that any such thing had happened. If he couldn't see it, then it wasn't there. And he was adamant in his refusal.

No, for him it had been nothing but roses and passion.

He didn't know quite how she imagined their relationship, but he knew she loved him. He knew it.

There was a noise as the door to the mess hall opened, the loud screech of rusting hinges. Lance made a note to order the repairs.

A soldier entered, looking a bit nervous and glancing from left and right. He cut a straight line to where Lance sat, causing the Commander to mentally groan. He really didn't want to bother with this trouble.

Morrigan stood up suddenly, signaled for the soldier to come to her instead. She hurriedly crossed the distance to meet him halfway. She kept her voice hushed and ordered him to do the same. It all seemed very curious to Lance, and he wondered what it was all about. If there was some problem in the Vigil then the Commander deserved to know, regardless if he _wanted_ to.

Morrigan returned shortly, the soldier rushing off to handle it.

"What was that?" Lance asked her. She only shook her head.

"You needn't be bothered with it," she said. "Not today."

He raised his eyebrow again. What was it with _today_? What was there that he needed to be defended from? He didn't mind, though.

Well, yes he did. In fact he minded quite a bit. It pissed him off to be frank.

He was the Warden Commander of Ferelden and if there was something he should know about, then he deserved to know it. Going around making vague references to "today" was doing him no good.

He stood, angry but trying not to let it show.

"There's a batch of recruits today," he said. "I should prepare to put them through the Joining."

"No," said Nathaniel, standing. "Relax, Commander. You and Morrigan should go… do things. I can handle the Joining."

Lance pushed his bowl roughly to the side. He cleared his throat noisily.

"What?" he demanded. The Wardens looked at him blankly, causing him even more exasperation. "_What_? Why is everyone treating me with kid gloves? What's so important about _today_?"

Nathaniel's eyes widened.

"Are you joking or are you truly that daft? Surely you remember?"

Lance squinted at him.

"What the-"

And then it hit him. It was _that_ day.

"Oh, hell," he whispered. And he sat back down. Nathaniel looked hesitant to say anything. He looked over at Morrigan, gave her a quick nod and rushed off to handle his business. The other Wardens remained awkwardly silent, looking back and forth at each other.

Lance didn't really want to meet their nervous gaze. He wanted to go back to bed now.

He'd forgotten. Two years and he'd already forgotten.

Morrigan stood and was at his side suddenly, gently urging him to stand.

"Come, Commander," she said. He obeyed, shoulders slumped.

How could he have forgotten? Of all days?

He had to go see Fergus, as soon as possible. It would take the rest of the day but if he rode hard he could get there.

"They died today," he said.


	5. Chapter 5

"How could I forget?"

"'Tis no trouble," Morrigan assured him. "You have come too far to begin wallowing in self-pity now."

"Don't give me that crap," said Lance. "For all the good it's done me. The great Hero of Ferelden can't even be bothered to remember his own parents' deaths."

_Not just your parents, either._

"Oh, please," Morrigan said, standing up, throwing up her hands in frustration. "Must we _always_ do this? Must we always sit around and cry about our troubles?"

"Wow, you really have no compassion."

"_My_ mother died and look how well I have handled it."

"Do you really want me to respond to that?"

"No. I am simply making a point. You are a strong man – do not let yourself give in so easily."

"Relax," said Lance. "I'm not 'giving in'. But I should return to Highever, to see Fergus."

"Your brother?"

"Yes," Lance said. He recalled that the two had yet to meet formally, though Lance had mentioned Morrigan in a letter to his older brother. Fergus was now the Teyrn of Highever. Lance had once been seen as the likely successor, but his rise to Warden Commander had negated any such position. Amaranthine was nominally a vassal of Highever, but it was generally recognized as being an independent state under the Grey Wardens.

Some had said that Lance could wield as much power as a Teyrn if he wanted, though he was uncomfortable exercising his power as an Arl.

"Would you come with me?" asked Lance. "I'd like you to be there."

"I shall," she said. It was another one of those unspoken things between them, the depths of their love for one another. She wouldn't be the irate, unfettered woman he'd known. Today, she was his lover, and he hers.

Morrigan smiled and added, "It would be nice to write Celine once more, and describe to her Ferelden luxury."

The stab was directed at him. Morrigan had become a good friend of the Empress of Orlais in the time they had been apart, and she wrote her often. Orlesian nobility lived in the lap of luxury, basking in the very finest in comforts. Lance did not. Morrigan found it to be a source of endless humor.

"Okay," said Lance. "Then let's go. Let's just pick up and go."

She nodded. "We can leave today. We should pack first, but we may leave."

Lance stood, gave her a quick kiss.

"I'll make arrangements," he said. "You okay to ride?"

"I will manage."

Lance nodded, and left. Truth be told, she would probably have preferred to shapeshift. A crow's flight would take less time than the Imperial Highway certainly. But Lance would relish the chance to be alone with her, just the two of them. They so rarely got that opportunity these days.

There weren't many horses in Ferelden, most belonging to the nobility for their knights and personal use. Lance was lucky enough to have a stable full of them – mostly donations from other lords to the Wardens.

They would take two of the sturdier horses and ride all day. They would reach Highever fairly late, but Fergus would welcome them all the same.

It had been a long time.

Morrigan was packing her things, what she could. She was a child of the Wilds and so could survive with very little, despite her taste for the finer things. When she and Lance had moved into the new bedchambers, she had insisted on the addition of several "tacky" pieces of furnishing.

Lance wasn't thrilled about it, but he was willing to budge so long as it made her happy. He secretly enjoyed letting her have a taste of finery. The golden mirror that she packed alongside a change of clothes assured her of as much.

She felt a swell of pride, that he cared so much for her. She was the only woman on the planet that could say as much. And she loved him, dearly. It was strange for her to say.

"I love you" was not something she had been taught to say to a man, quite the opposite. Mother had always drilled it into her that love was a weakness, folly. Love was nothing worth having. Love decays and becomes rotten.

Yet she felt it so strongly for him, so powerfully. It threatened to consume her sometimes and, strangely, she welcomed it. It felt good, though strange. It felt right. She didn't worry that it would be taken away from them; she knew it wouldn't. She couldn't live a moment without it.

And she knew he was exactly the same, by the way he looked at her, the way he smiled. He had trouble keeping his hands off of her, and she him. She found herself barely able to contain herself waiting for the night to arrive.

She was glad to be alone with him on this trip, to be together without the worry of running an Arling or saving the world. She hoped to be able to console him, to mourn his loss as though it were her own.

She wondered if his parents would have approved of her, if they would have declared her a proper mate for their son. She wondered if his brother would accept her as family. She had never sought acceptance from the world of man – and she wouldn't start now – but it was still a curious thought, if he and she were a right match.

He wouldn't care, of course. He never did care about how people thought of them. It was important enough that they were together. He had sacrificed so much for her.

She winced at that.

It would forever be her shame, leaving him. Breaking him.

She never knew that she was capable of such devastation and she never again hoped to see it. It terrified her, to see him, frothing and mad, bleeding. For her.

He still wondered, sometimes, if she would leave again. She could tell.

He would stay up; watch her sleep, as though he were waiting to see if Morrigan would try to leave in the dark.

She had trouble practicing her shapeshifting around him. He would try to conceal it with nervous humor, but she knew how tense and rigid he would get when she turned into some small, swift thing. And it strangely hurt her to see that.

So she had made a secret agreement with herself to not leave his side, no matter what. And she ordered him not to leave hers.

They were together – whatever may come – they were together.

And though they would arrive tired and dirty at Highever, she would see to it that they were together that night.

So when Lance returned from making preparations to ride, Morrigan having packed him a bag of his finer clothes, she greeted him with a warm smile and a gentle touch of his shoulder, something that he found to be simultaneously comforting and disarming.

"Ready?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Yes, love," she said. "Whenever you are."


	6. Chapter 6

He had prepared two horses, but Morrigan thought it would be more fun to ride on one, her in the saddle in front of him and him holding her close, arms around her to keep hold of the reins.

He agreed, though the very idea seemed awkward to him. With the cold northern winds coming in from the Waking Sea, though, he felt glad to have her warmth. She didn't dare tell him that she had no idea how to ride a horse.

They rode like that across the Imperial Highway, all day. He occasionally slowed enough to kiss her cheek or playfully rub his smooth chin on her neck, struggling once or twice to do so without giving her a black eye.

She enjoyed it, and nestled herself against him for warmth in the cold wind. Her standard of dress had improved in the time she had spent living among men proper, though she still hadn't quite mastered dressing in a weather appropriate fashion, relying on her magic for warmth most of the time. Or on Lance, when it was readily convenient. And when it wasn't.

It made for very awkward conversations with vassals to have a woman leaning heavily on him. He'd not the heart to inform her of the finer parts of social etiquette.

The wind was blowing hard, and cold. It burned their bare faces and palms. Lance had them stop along the way to bundle up, putting on gloves and wrapping a wool blanket around Morrigan's shoulders. She laughed at his treatment of her.

"You are so delicate," she said. "Hardly the touch of a great 'Hero'."

"The legends are much better," said Lance. "I'm twelve feet tall and shooting lightning."

"I like lightning."

"Only you."

They arrived at Highever late, the sun barely casting its purplish rays over the horizon, just enough light to see by.

The large gates of the castle loomed over them, reminding Lance of times long past.

"Sweet Maker," he whispered. "I haven't been here in ages."

He was suddenly unsure if he even wanted to return, if he wanted to try to reclaim his past, a past that he had tried so hard to distance himself from. He wanted to turn back, to ride through the rest of the night back to Amaranthine.

Then he felt Morrigan's own tension, her shoulders rising slightly. And he knew that he wasn't alone in his fear, in the sudden feeling of freefall in his stomach.

"My Lord!" said a guard captain that recognized Lance. Lance felt bad that he didn't recognize the captain, though he knew it wouldn't be expected of him. "My Lord, we were not prepared for your arrival. I apologize."

"It's okay," said Lance. "I came in a hurry. I don't need an honor guard."

"Ah, yes, My Lord. Teyrn Fergus is in the main hall, mourning."

"Can you handle my horse? I would very much like to speak to him."

"Yes, of course, My Lord."

Morrigan held in her giggles, the humor that arose from his being called "Lord". He didn't require it of his Wardens and encouraged his soldiers to forget about it. He was a Commander first, a Lord second. Or third. Or a distant fourth.

"Jackass" was quite preferable.

The guards saluted and opened the gate for them, the captain ushering one of his men to stable the horse and see to its care. The captain himself opened the gate to the main hall, acting as a crier of sorts.

"Lord Teyrn Fergus Cousland, presenting Warden Commander Lance Cousland."

The guards in the room fell to their knees, heads bowed. They saluted, each of them grateful for the Wardens, for Lance in particular. They regarded him with the same fealty they would have reserved for the Teyrn himself, remembering that not long ago Lance _was_ going to be Teyrn. They still held a special reverence for him, for his execution of Arl Howe. And for ending the Blight. It was getting to be very awkward.

Fergus was sitting by the fire, having a drink and reading an old book. He looked quite startled – first to hear the door open so suddenly, and then to hear the announcement that his brother had finally returned to Highever.

Lance had given him a quite chilly reception when they were last face-to-face, though he hoped that he'd warmed up via their letters. Fergus looked perplexed, barely able to comprehend that he was looking again at his brother.

"Hello, Fergus," Lance said, flashing a nervous smile. Fergus blinked. And then he was grinning, rubbing his hand over his beard.

"Little brother…" he said. "Is this a social call or a political meeting?"

"You know what day it is?"

"I do," said Fergus with a nod and an averted gaze. He stepped towards Lance, reached out to clap his brother on the arm. Lance pulled him closer and they embraced for the first time since Fergus had left to face Darkspawn in the south.

"I missed you," he said. And Fergus nodded.

"And you, little brother," he said. Fergus stepped back, regarded Lance fondly. For his part, Lance was glad to be back with his family, what was left of it. Fergus looked over at Morrigan, cocked an eyebrow. He must not have noticed her when they entered.

"Who is this?" asked Fergus with a polite bow. Lance cleared his throat nervously, suddenly a little on edge.

"This is Morrigan," said Lance. "She's my… we…"

Lance always stumbled when it came to introducing her. Being tactful didn't come easy for her, and he always seemed to lose whatever good sense he had when she was near. Perhaps it was just a "guy thing".

"I am his… betrothed," said Morrigan, wearing a tight grin, causing Lance's eyes to widen greatly.

He never thought that she would ever consider marriage, even to him. She had once stated quite clearly her desire to _not_ be married. He never pushed the matter, and didn't care to. So introducing herself as being betrothed to Lance…

Well that just threw him for a loop. And Fergus seemed to be pleasantly surprised. What would his reaction be when he figured out there was no wedding? Regardless, it was better than the other words Morrigan had used to describe their relationship to others.

"Betrothed? Well, then, brother, perhaps tonight calls for a bit of a celebration?"

"I don't know if I'm up to it," said Lance. Fergus nodded.

"I don't blame you. I was just hoping that we could perhaps liven up this day."

"Perhaps another time," said Lance. Morrigan nodded, putting her arm around Lance's.

"Darling," she said, with a hefty dose of humor that Fergus couldn't detect. Lance could. He was used to it by now. "Perhaps we should take this moment to prepare our room?"

"Yes, brother," said Fergus. "I have left your bedroom as you had it. Howe's men had made use of it, so it might be… rougher than you recall."

"Oh, great," said Lance. He wondered what "made use" meant. Knowing Howe and his ilk…

"I'll have the servants prepare dinner for three," said Fergus with a polite nod. Grinning, he added, "My Arl."

Lance gave him a look of annoyance and ushered Morrigan to follow him up to where their room would be.

He remembered the steps as surely as if he'd walked the path just yesterday. It was years ago, but it felt so real, so close. He glanced over at Morrigan, wondering if she knew how he felt. She gave him a brief smile that told him as much.

He unconsciously rubbed the ring on his finger, the one she'd given him. It kept them linked, kept them together. It might have had some deeper meaning if she allowed it.

Today, it just let her know that he had butterflies in his stomach.

"Here," he said, leading her up the narrow cobbled path to the Lords' Quarters. "It's up here."

She tightened her grip on him, in response to the nervousness in his voice.

He couldn't see the castle for his childhood home. No, he saw scorch marks and bloodstains, notches made in the stone by swords. He saw his sister-in-law and his nephew dead on the floor, his father bleeding out. He saw his mother, her resigned gaze.

And as he lightly pushed open the door to his room, he saw another woman, dead on the floor.

"'Tis very…" Morrigan searched for the proper words. "Plain."

"Thanks," Lance mumbled, not listening to her. His room had, at some point, been ransacked. The drawers of his vanity were emptied. His chest had been cleaved open. The bed was not his own, the old one likely having been chopped into firewood.

Fergus had said he returned the room to what it had been before. But how could he? The room was nothing like it once was. It never would be.

Lance unslung his pack, set it on the bed. He hesitated, wondering where he should begin to make himself at home. As if he ever could.

Morrigan had no such qualms. She set her pack down on the bed and began to remove her clothes and place them in the armoire. Lance watched her, hesitant and mute.

She didn't pay attention to his nervousness, not at first. But then she was looking at him, trying to determine what exactly his problem was.

"I'm sorry," said Lance. "This is just so strange to me."

"It should not be," she said. "This is your home."

"No," he said. "It hasn't been my home since… I met you."

She frowned. It was upsetting to see him so on edge, so unhappy – especially considering that he should seem right at home. Honestly, if it wasn't one thing getting him depressed then it was another.

"'Twas your idea to come," Morrigan reminded. Lance nodded.

"I know," he said. "I know…"

"You desired this."

"I know."

"This was what you wanted."

"I _know_. But it doesn't make it easier."

She nodded. "I understand."

"Do you? No offense, but you haven't exactly shed any tears over Flemeth. Not that I blame you."

"I know what 'tis like to be separated from a loved one," she said, looking him straight-on. He knew she was referring to something he didn't like thinking about.

"Sorry," he said lamely. "That was stupid of me to say."

"No worry," she said. "You are only a man."

That made him grin. She had a way about her, the ability to keep him from being upset all the time. He didn't know what he'd do with himself if he didn't have her.

"Dinner won't be for a while," he said. She smiled at that. He took a tentative step towards her.

"Oh? What might we do to pass the time?"

He touched her cheek, urging her towards him. They kissed.

"I thought I might leave that up to you," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

Bann Florek waited at the dinner table, picking at his plate. He wasn't hungry, not so long as he was waiting for the latest news.

Several of the nobles had pledged their fealty to him, putting him on the fast track to Teyrn. The Landsmeet would have some questions for him, but by then he wouldn't need to lift his finger to make himself King.

Not that it mattered, so long as the Hero of Ferelden was still around. He had spies tracking him and his Wardens, though they'd yet to send any important information. It was just a matter of time.

His Crow, however, had been busy.

Florek had made sure that he hired the best of assassins, not some fool who'd been waiting in Ferelden for months. No, he got the very best of Crows, a master assassin, bane of the merchant nobility. He was an expert, and though it might take months, he would herd the Hero right into Florek's hands.

The money given by the nobility for the contract was already being spent, garnering support, staging traps. The Wardens at Amaranthine would be hard to break, but it wouldn't be impossible. It just required a surgeon's touch.

Florek was no surgeon, but he was a Blood Mage. Mother and father had taught him well.

He grinned to himself, imagining already the Hero of Ferelden in his thrall, a figurehead for his reign, his dynasty. Who would stand against him with such a champion?

Ah, if only it were so easy. He'd probably have to just rip the Hero to shreds. How unfortunate.

"My Lord," a servant Elf whispered. He appeared from the shadows, annoying Florek at his sudden interruption. It wouldn't be wise, but Florek found himself imagining summoning the great desire in the Elf to rip his own eyes out.

Florek inclined his head to the side for the Elf to whisper.

Florek grinned. He dismissed the Elf.

The Bann grabbed a slice of ham off of his plate and took a large bite from it. The Warden Commander was making this easy for him. He'd left Amaranthine alone with his ladylove, to visit Highever.

The assassin emerged from the shadows opposite the Elf, still cloaked and hidden from plain view. His Antivan accent was thick, and it amused Florek.

"The Hero and his love are alone," said Florek. The assassin didn't respond.

Florek grinned wider as he raised the goblet of wine to his lips.

"I trust you know what to do?"

"It shall be done," said the assassin.


	8. Chapter 8

Velanna yawned, stretched, before heading out onto the balcony of her new bedchamber. She was a senior Warden now, however ridiculous the title seemed to her, and so was allowed her own room. The recruits were stuck in the dormitories, with the guards.

Oh, well. Lance insisted upon it, said that it would do no good for the recruits to think themselves superior to other men just for being Wardens. The senior Wardens were apparently allowed to think themselves better.

That thought made Velanna giggle to herself. Not too long ago she would have readily admitted to being better than any human. Now, though? Well, she wasn't a fan but she'd seen admirable aspects in her fellow Wardens.

Especially in her Commander.

With a sigh she lamented the fact that she and the Commander were not together. She cared for him, deeply. But he and Morrigan were together, and she could not come between them, no matter how much she might have wanted to.

She wished she could have traveled with him to Highever, to pay respects to his family. But this was something he needed to do only with Morrigan, and she could understand that.

Once more Velanna thought of her sister, wondered if she should be paying her last respects to Seranni. The poor girl was a ghoul now, toiling away in the darkest places of the Deep Roads, preparing for the next Blight.

The thought had brought tears to Velanna's eyes before, but no longer. She had come to accept it, at Lance's insistence. He had made the decision to kill the Architect, and though she once thought she hated him for it, she could not bring herself to now.

He was a good man, she knew. Troubled, but good.

He was in Highever already, spending time with Morrigan and mourning his family. She wondered what Highever was like, if the castle there was comparable to the Vigil. She wasn't an expert on humans, not by any means, but she imagined that a castle belonging to the Teyrn of Highever would be something extraordinary.

Velanna dressed in the plain robes she'd purchased in Amaranthine, what Lance called "normal person's attire", and made her way to the mess hall, where she would eat breakfast with the other senior Wardens and prepare for the day-to-day running of the castle.

Lance eschewed such things, though as an Arl it always came back to bite him, and left the actual running of the Vigil to his subordinates. Velanna was as much in charge of the castle as Lance, though Oghren was the official second-in-command.

The crass Dwarf didn't care for politics or the running of a stone building and so usually focused on those things he _did _like doing. Namely drinking and fighting. He at least was able to impart some warrior wisdom on the recruits and teach them some time-honored techniques for rending Darkspawn in half.

Nathaniel sat, eating quietly. He was raised as the son of a noble, just as Lance had been, though without the special training to take over his father's estate. Regardless he possessed enough political know-how, unfortunately culled from watching his father, to handle the general politics of Ferelden nobility. That managed to make Lance's burden much easier to bear.

Anders was primarily responsible for training the few mages that the Wardens had stolen away from the Circle, mainly as a cop to the Circle's demands that they be trained by a Circle mage. Lance had assured them that would be the case.

Anders didn't really handle any of the logistics or maintenance of the Vigil, and he was glad for that. So was Velanna, to be honest. She wouldn't trust him to get a fish to swim.

As she took a seat, Velanna looked across the table at Sigrun. The peppy Dwarf was eating with her characteristic happiness, as though she reveled in being alive. The irony being that for all intents and purposes, she was dead.

They looked at Velanna, wondering if she would give them any early morning orders. She wasn't a slave driver but she ran a tight ship. She wanted to be sure the Vigil wouldn't fall apart in the Commander's absence.

"What?" she asked when the stares wouldn't cease. She took her seat and began to spoon breakfast onto her plate. The others shrugged and returned to eating.

"The Warden going to be in Highever for long?" asked Oghren around a mouthful of bacon. Velanna grimaced.

"I don't know," she said. "Morrigan did not say."

"Figures."

"Lucky him," said Anders, shooting a glance at Velanna. "What I wouldn't give to run off with a beautiful woman for a week."

"Keep wishing," said Velanna, making a point to stab a sausage with her fork and rip into it with her teeth. Anders frowned and turned back to his food.

Oghren looked at Velanna with a lopsided grin.

"Does everybody have something to do today?" asked Velanna, sipping from a mug filled with water. They all grumbled their affirmations.

"Good," she said. "That makes it easier for me."

"Boy," said Anders. "You'd almost think she _enjoyed_ telling us what to do."

"I appreciate the irony of my ordering around you _shemlen_."

"What about the Dwarves?" asked Sigrun. "You don't like ordering us?"

"Same difference," replied Velanna. "As far as I'm concerned."

There was a brief shuffle as space was made for Leliana to sit with them. She was technically not a senior Warden, but she was a good friend of Lance and so was given a number of advantages over the younger Wardens. And according to Lance, Morrigan, and Oghren, she had more experience battling Darkspawn than any of the "senior" Wardens.

Her demeanor was pleasant, and so she had won Velanna's favor. And apparently Nathaniel's as well, if the coy smiles they gave each other was any indication.

"I think it is good they have left together," said Leliana. "He was so upset about his parents… he deserves this chance."

"I'm sure," said Anders. He hadn't known the Commander for very long and so couldn't imagine him as anything other than the hard-as-nails Grey Warden that he'd met his first day in the Vigil. Velanna knew him quite a bit better than that. Intimately.

She smiled slyly to herself, and Anders rolled his eyes. It had become an open secret that she had feelings for the Commander. It certainly made private meetings more awkward, but otherwise hadn't been a major problem. Outside of Morrigan's insistence that she be with the Commander any time he might meet with Velanna. She sure liked gloating.

In the end, she and Morrigan had what might be described as a friendly rivalry. They often competed to see whose magic could be the most potent, and had even taught each other a few tricks. Morrigan certainly enjoyed learning some of the most carefully guarded spells of the Dalish.

Velanna hadn't yet mastered shapeshifting, but she was certain she could. If Morrigan could do it, then so could she.

But now she was here waiting for Morrigan and the Commander to return, wishing that she could be there now.

Oh, well…

She would just have to find something to keep her mind off of things.


	9. Chapter 9

There hadn't been any bodies to bury. Arl Howe had seen to that.

So the best thing that could be done to remember the dead was a series of headstones in memorial.

_In memory of Teyrn Bryce Cousland and Teyrna Eleanor Cousland._

Lance put a hand on the stone, shaking a bit. It didn't quite seem real.

He hadn't actually seen his parents die. Duncan had pulled him away before he could be sure that his father was dead. His mother had still been alive, ready to fight off as many of Howe's men as she could before dying. In many ways, he perhaps imagined that they hadn't died.

But here he was, touching the headstone, no doubt that his parents were dead. Never coming back.

Morrigan softly cleared her throat.

"I am sorry for your loss," she said. Lance couldn't be sure if she was just saying it or if she was sincere. He thought she was.

"Don't be," Lance said. "Not anymore."

She gave him a strange look, one that prompted him to be more specific.

"They died," Lance said. "They died for me."

He scowled a bit, looking at the tombstone now. He clenched his hand into a fist, thumped the stone in a warrior's salute.

"I'm still alive," said Lance. "I'm still fighting."

Lance looked at Morrigan with the determination she'd come to expect of him. It scared her at first, but then she welcomed it. It meant he was thinking of her.

"I found you," said Lance. "And I wouldn't trade that for the world."

She gave him a fond smile. "I am glad that _I_ found _you_."

"Right," said Lance. "Silly me."

"Are you ready to go inside?" asked Morrigan. Lance shook his head.

"No, there's one thing I wanted to do. You go on ahead, if you'd like."

She nodded, understanding that he was wanting to do this next thing by himself, alone. Some things, she understood, a person had to do themselves.

She turned and left the courtyard, seeking out some odd bit of entertainment, perhaps in the castle's library. Lance glanced around, made sure he was alone.

Quietly, he stepped gingerly towards where the servant's headstone had been set up. Lance glanced behind him again, nervous.

He looked up and down the rows, searching for that particular name.

"Marna," he whispered to himself, finding the proper stone.

He touched it, swiped away collected soil from the stone. He let himself smile slightly, like he would have upon encountering her in one of the corridors. She would have returned it, sly, brazen.

"Excuse me, My Lord," she would say with her sweetest voice. He would grin.

He touched the stone once more.

"I couldn't save you," he said. "I'm sorry. I really am."

He sat down in front of the stone, tracing her name, the carving on the smooth marble.

"I still miss you from time to time, you know? It's hard. I really hope you're somewhere good, better than this place. You know you deserved as much."

He sighed, put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward to touch his forehead on the stone.

"I would have liked to start a family with you," he said. "I would have liked to marry you. We could have been happy, I know it. I'm a Grey Warden now, can you believe it?"

He laughed. She would have been so proud of him, so happy. It would have made it hard for them, but she would have worked for it.

"There's a new girl," he said. "I love her. Her name is Morrigan. Is that okay? I mean, it's not disrespectful, is it? You would have wanted me to move on? To fall in love? I loved you, too, just not the same way… That's wrong isn't it?"

He sighed again, groaned.

"I really wish I could have saved you – that I could have been _your_ hero. But look at everything I did… all the people I saved, that we saved. Does that make it worth it? Is that what the Maker intended?"

He didn't know what she would say. She wasn't particularly religious, but she did believe. She sometimes spoke of things as being willed by the Maker. Would she say the same about this?

He didn't know.

"I wonder if you'd like Morrigan. Few enough people do. Maybe that's why we're together. I'm the only one that can stand her," he said. He laughed at that. It made sense. "I'm not just a Grey Warden, by the way. I'm the Warden Commander of Ferelden. Pretty awesome, huh?"

He laughed harder, thinking about the irony of it all.

"And I'm the Arl of Amaranthine. Rendon Howe is dead. I killed him. Oh, and his oldest is dead, too. I didn't do that. His daughter is married to a tradesman in Amaranthine. She's got a kid. And his youngest son is one of my Wardens. I'd call him a friend, if you'd believe it."

"I think she would," said Morrigan. Lance whipped around to see her standing there. His face went red, and he felt as though his stomach had fallen out.

"Morrigan!" he said. "How long were you standing there?"

"Not long," she answered. She sat next to him, looked at the headstone. "I know you, as did she. You are just the sort to make a friend of an enemy."

"Nathaniel wasn't an enemy," said Lance. "I never thought he was."

Morrigan looked again at the headstone.

"This was the girl? Before me?"

"Yes."

"Then I should thank her. She allowed me to have you."

"You don't believe that."

"No? Perhaps you know my thoughts better than I?"

"No, I don't. But I know you."

"Do you see what I must deal with, _daily_?" she asked of the stone. "I really cannot fathom how you managed for so long."

Lance smiled. "It takes just the right touch, I guess."

Morrigan reached over to take his hand. She put it firmly on the stone, just below Marna's name. There was a flash of light and when she pulled away his hand he saw that his hand print had been seared into the stone.

"Neat trick," said Lance.

"Thank you," said Morrigan. "Tricks are what I do best."

"I love you," said Lance. And Morrigan nodded.

"I think that she would be very proud of you. I think she would not begrudge you your peace of mind."

"Thanks," said Lance. "I hoped she wouldn't."

"I am proud of you," said Morrigan. They stood and left the courtyard together, to go find Fergus and spend their time talking. Morrigan looked back at the tombstone and wondered who Marna was, what about her made Lance think of her so often.

She quietly hoped that Lance would think of her the same why, years from now. She would think of him, fondly.

"I love you," she said. And Lance turned to face her. And he smiled.

"I win," he said. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

"I win," he said again. "I've gotten you to tell me you love me, in public."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, wonderful. What monster have I created?"

Lance looked back at the graveyard.

"I want to kiss you now," he said. "But let's go inside first."


	10. Chapter 10

Lance and Fergus were laughing wildly, slapping their thighs as they reminisced about their childhood. They sat near to the fire, drinking wine and trading jokes. Morrigan sat near Lance, laughing occasionally at his stories. She wasn't much for wine and so didn't find the jokes nearly as funny.

"Hey, remember the time you got drunk at mother's salon?" Fergus asked between laughs. "When Delilah asked you for a dance? And what did you say?"

Lance cleared his throat. "'Do you think Saorla Alfstanna looks pretty in that dress?'"

Fergus laughed loudly at that.

"Oh, she never did like you after that."

"Ah, she tolerates me now," Lance said. "She comes to the Vigil every now and again. I'd invite her to move in if she didn't have a baby."

"Speaking of which," said Fergus, waggling his eyebrows at Lance and Morrigan. "Is the pitter-patter of tiny feet in my little brother's future?"

Lance and Morrigan glanced at each other, frowning a bit.

"No," said Lance. "I don't think so. It's a Grey Warden problem."

He didn't mention what had happened the last time they had a child. He didn't want to think about it.

"I see," said Fergus. He turned to Morrigan and said, "So you are a Grey Warden, too? My brother never tells me of his romantic interests, so I know nothing about you."

"I am," said Morrigan. "Though our… relationship is much older than that."

"Oh? Is there a story there?"

"Yes," said Morrigan. Fergus perked up.

"Do tell, My Lady. If you would be so kind."

Lance sighed noisily and leaned back in his chair. He knew Morrigan would ham it up and make him out to be something he wasn't. She was fond of that.

"We met in the Korcari Wilds," said Morrigan. "I found him there."

"What were you doing in the Wilds?"

"Grey Warden initiation," said Lance, taking a gulp from his wine glass. "Secret."

"Oh, I see," said Fergus. "And the two of you met there? Would that make you…?"

"A Witch of the Wilds?" asked Morrigan. "Yes. I believe I am. Or was."

"That's my little brother," said Fergus. "Always was a thrill seeker."

"And what better thrill than a Witch of the Wilds?"

"I don't want to talk about this," said Lance. He cleared his throat.

"Why the interest in my having kids?"

"I thought it important," said Fergus. He sighed himself and said, "After Oren and Oriana… I don't want to marry again. What would the point be?"

Lance caught his line of thought and nodded.

"No heir to the Cousland name."

"I had hoped to have a nephew or niece even to leave the whole Teyrnir to."

"Sorry that I can't be of service there," said Lance. He thought back to Marna and frowned. "Just too bad."

"As am I," said Fergus. "Oh, well. Don't suppose Morrigan wants to be barefoot and pregnant anyways."

"No, I would rather not," she said.

"She doesn't bake bread, either," said Lance.

They shared a laugh at that. Lance yawned.

"Oh, how late is it? It must be past midnight."

"You aren't giving out on me already?" asked Fergus. Lance nodded, draining his glass.

"I'm out. I'm going to bed," said Lance. Fergus laughed. "Morrigan? You coming?"

"No," she said. "I think I would much rather regale your brother with tales of our adventures."

"Oh, great," said Lance. He set the glass aside and went off to his room. He stepped out of the den into the cool night air. He wasn't too eager about walking through the cold to his chambers, but at least it would sober him up enough to wake up in the morning without a headache.

There was a strange stillness in the air, something he didn't particularly like. It was unusual. It felt very odd, yet somehow familiar.

And then he saw, just down the stone path, hidden by the dark, the body of one of the castle's guards.

And he suddenly knew why it felt so familiar.

He turned on his heel and ran, hearing the soft sounds of padded feet behind him. Assassins. Come for him, or for Fergus. It didn't matter.

Lance bolted through the door to the den, where Fergus was listening intently to Morrigan's story of how Lance defeated the dragon Andraste.

"Hide," Lance hissed. He shut the door behind him, making sure it was locked.

Fergus stood suddenly.

"What's going on?"

"Assassins," said Lance. "The castle is under attack. Again."

"Maker's balls," Fergus swore. "What do we do? How many of them?"

"I don't know," said Lance. He thought rapidly. They wanted their target. Who was it? Him or Fergus? It was probably him; Maker knew that there were plenty of his enemies out here. But who and why? The Crows? They'd said they wouldn't take out a new contract on him, but how well could you trust a Crow?

Instantly there was a flashback to his last night at the castle, to another attack. He felt his heart torn in two, he remembered his parents.

"Hide," Lance said again. "Both of you."

"I will not hide," said Morrigan. Lance shook his head.

He saw another young woman, lying on the floor, bleeding out, dead. He saw Morrigan.

"You don't get a choice."

"Wait," said Fergus. "What will you do?"

Lance looked at the door then back at Fergus and Morrigan.

He saw himself being pulled away, by Duncan. He saw himself leaving the two most important people left in his life behind.

But he wasn't running.

"What I do."

The doors burst open and Lance hoped Fergus and Morrigan would lock it behind him.

He smashed into the first assassin to approach, slamming him against the wall. The assassins had weapons, and he did not. But it would make no difference.

Lance punched the assassin in the face, knocked him out cold, and turned to fight the next to approach him.

It had been a long time since he'd fought. He welcomed it.

He thrust his fist into the throat of an attacker, turned, kicked. He blocked a punch, shattered a rib.

An assassin tried to stab him, and Lance caught the wrist. He twisted, disarmed his attacker. He brought his elbow up into the assassin's nose.

Another assassin tried to knife him, and Lance broke his arm. Lance kicked, knocked someone back, and he turned and fought.

Lance slammed into another, made a mess of the hall to block off the attackers. He lashed left and right, smashed noses and throats. He fought like a madman.

Another assassin tried to fight, to deliver a blade into his gut. Lance kicked out, sending the dagger flying harmlessly to the side. He got the assassin in a rough chokehold and snapped his neck.

In another instant Lance was running, leaving the assassins behind, goading them to chase him. They weren't the best, not by a long shot. They would take the bait.

Other assassins dropped down from the walls, knives and bows in hand. A few arrows hissed past him, breaking uselessly against the walls.

Lance barreled into the first assassin to try to stop him, sending him flying headlong into the ground.

He turned, kicked to send another assassin stumbling back into his compatriots, slowing them all.

Lance ran, faster, further. He was looking, trying to find that special spot on the wall, where he and Fergus as kids had practiced jumping, had practiced climbing. It was close at hand, within reach.

Lance jumped, put his foot to the wall and pushed, reaching up. He never knew why it worked so well here, whether it was due to some architectural fluke or just luck. He gripped the edge of the battlements, pulled himself up.

He was on the wall now, running.

A few assassins tried to repeat the move, but failed, not knowing how to do it as well as him. The rest turned, searched for the stairs that would take them up.

He ran, leading them through the castle. He would kill them now, just give him the chance.

The armory wasn't far from here. He could try to grab a weapon, to kill these men properly. Would he get the chance? Didn't matter. He'd kill them.

The assassins had doubled back, trying to cut him off. They wouldn't do it, no matter how hard they tried. He was just too good, knew the castle too well. They could try. But they would fail.

He reached the first tower, where the assassins had gathered on the stairs to fight him, to stop him.

He lashed out, delivering one boot to the chest of the first assassin to top the stairs, knocking him back and stalling the charge. There was a small table here, where the guards would eat dinner or play cards. A knife was left there, dug into the wooden table.

He grabbed it, flipped it around in his hand to distract his next target, then slashed his throat. It wasn't fatal. He ducked under another swing, came up with the blade under the assassin's ribs. He turned smashed a nose with his fist and followed it up with a knife to the shoulder.

He turned and ran out of the tower, leaving the wounded and dead behind and the still-living chasing after him.

The tower let out onto the wall that surrounded the courtyard, where the memorial had been raised. It was somehow poetic that he would fight here, above the graves of his family and friends.

These assassins would come to regret their choice of career.

Lance spun on his heel, grabbed the next assassin, surprising him. Lance pushed and sent the man over the side of the wall. The next few were ready.

Lance tried to stab downwards, wasn't surprised to see that the assassin blocked him. He wasn't smart enough to defend his right side, though. Lance punched, felt a rib crack. The assassin cried out, and Lance smashed his head against one of the battlements.

The next tried to sweep out Lance legs, getting his knee shattered for his trouble. The last was too smart to try and attack, instead waiting for Lance to move first. Unfortunately for him, Lance wasn't in the mood for a fair fight.

He delivered the heel of his hand to the guy's nose, feeling it shatter. Another strike and he stopped moving.

Lance turned again and continued to run, stopping short when he saw that another large group of assassins had gathered in front of him. And there were more coming in behind him.

He was surrounded.

So he did the only thing he could. He punched, and kicked, scattering them, hoping to buy himself space. A knife poked into his side. He cried out, grabbed the throat of his attacker and ripped.

His left side stung with pain.

There was a kick to his head, and everything went blurry. He stumbled to find his next target and smash his head against the stone battlements. His elbow lashed out, connected with another assassin.

Another blade bit into his arm and he felt the rush of warm blood.

He shouted, punched and kicked until he couldn't feel his arms or legs. He cracked skulls, broke bones. He gouged out an eye.

A club connected with his back, knocking the wind out of him. Hands gripped him, pulled his body prostrate.

Dimly he was aware of knives, stabbing. Blood poured from his wounds, down his stomach.

And he was lifted up, over, thrown from the wall. He saw the courtyard below, rising up, eager to greet him amongst the headstones and grave markers. He welcomed them, took solace in their company.

Even as he landed hard, cracking ribs, he knew he was home once more; on the battlefield.

He thought of Morrigan, of Fergus. He hoped they were well, that the assassins would assume their job complete and just leave.

As the blackness consumed his vision, he knew better than that.


	11. Chapter 11

Velanna sat up, feeling a little sick. She had been dreaming – an unpleasant one – and so was dizzy at first. But she knew she heard the sound. She couldn't describe it, but she knew.

At once she was up, stepping out of bed and grabbing up a nearby robe. With a wave of her hand she had her staff, and was approaching her room door.

And she heard it again, clearer and more definite.

Thumps, like bodies hitting the carpeted floor in the hall outside. Velanna pressed her ear against the wood door, straining to hear more. It could have been nothing. But something told her that it was serious, a threat.

She reached over, pulled the latch of the door, eased it open a crack. She peered out into the hall, struggling a bit to see in the dim light. Her eyes were sharp, however, and she was able to see as well as day after a moment.

There was nothing suspicious immediately in front of the door, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She hoped that now she could return to sleep, perhaps have a better dream. But her gut told her otherwise.

She knew that as a senior Warden it was her duty to make sure the Vigil was safe, that she should step out and be sure there was no one in the hall that shouldn't be. She didn't want to, but she would.

"Not one word, Elf," whispered a cold voice. She felt steel at her throat, knew that she was dead if she didn't cooperate. The man, whoever he was, leaned forward, to whisper quietly into her ear.

"Is there anyone else in the room?" he asked. Velanna shook her head. "Good. Take us to each of the Wardens rooms, the ones _he_ trusts."

"I can't do that," she whispered. He tightened his arm around her neck, twisting the blade tip so she understood the gravity of her situation.

"Don't play games."

She smiled. "Who's playing?"

And with an invisible force of magic she slammed him against the wall, his knife arm breaking. He cried out.

Velanna ducked low, seeing more assassins in the hall. She raised her staff into his sternum, knocking the wind out of him. She swiped the staff, connecting with his head and cracking his skull.

"To arms!" she shouted, loud enough for her voice to echo through the hall. "The keep is under attack!"

She swiped the air between her and the assassins, creating a plume of flame that scattered them. Momentarily.

It soon vanished and they charged forward, daggers and blades raised for combat. She was ready. She and Morrigan had spent countless hours in the Vigil's training room, learning from Lance and the other Wardens how to use their staves as weapons beyond their magical abilities.

Lance had once even told her about the legendary Arcane Warriors, and ancient class of magical soldier that had once represented the zenith of Elven might. She was glad to think that she had in some way revived the order.

Using her magic to make her movements faster, stronger, she fought her attackers.

She whipped her staff around, making the air sing with its movements.

She slammed the assassin's arm, shattering it. He cried out. These guys were not premium assassins, likely grunts hired on the cheap. Why? What would the point be in wasting the money?

She swung the staff around again, connecting with a jaw and breaking it.

Doors in the hall opened up, the other Wardens coming to fight. Nathaniel had his sword up, cutting through a pair of assassins that were caught off guard. The hallway was soon a swirling melee as Oghren, Sigrun, Leliana and Anders joined the fray. Blood spattered and magic hissed.

In a matter of minutes the hall was clear of assassins, clear of anyone that didn't belong.

Velanna sighed, lowering her staff and relaxing.

"Who were they?" asked Nathaniel. Velanna shrugged.

"Not your street assassin," she said. "Are they Crows?"

"They don't look it," he said, inspecting a body. "No tattoos, no signs of ritual torture."

"They aren't bards either," said Leliana. "Their moves are so sloppy. No bard master would tolerate this."

"Hired blades," said Velanna. "Cheap, disposable."

"This isn't a real attack," said Anders. "Who did they expect to kill?"

"What about the Commander?" asked Oghren. "Could they be after him?"

"Highever would have to have been attacked," Nathaniel said. "But the Commander is no push over."

"I'm leaving," said Velanna. She went to her room just long enough to grab a thicker robe, something that would allow her to travel through the early Ferelden cold.

"Wait a minute," said Nathaniel, raising a hand to stop her. "You can't go – you have to guard this keep from more of these assassins."

"No," she said. She sneered at him. "I'm going to find him. If he's in trouble and I can help him, then I go."

"Maker's breath, Velanna," said Nathaniel, lowering his voice to a whisper. "He doesn't want you."

"Shut up," she said, raising a finger at him. She could torch him if she so desired. She could incinerate him in an instant. "This isn't about that. This is about what I owe him."

"If you're going," said Oghren, axe hefted over one shoulder. "Then I guess I'm coming along."

"Alright, Dwarf," said Velanna. "Can you ride?"

He grinned lopsidedly, about to retort. Velanna held up a hand to keep him quiet.

"A horse, thick one. A horse."

"Oh. No."

Velanna sighed heavily. To Nathaniel, she said, "You're in charge until I get back. Clean up this mess."

She turned at once, ushering Oghren to find some appropriate traveling clothes. She herself went to find a horse, the one that Lance had prepared for his ride but not taken. She worried. If he was dead, if he was already gone…

No. She wouldn't think like that, not now. She couldn't bear to think like that.

She would find him and Morrigan, triumphant. Or she would not come back.


	12. Chapter 12

Fergus ripped the stopper from the poultice with his teeth, pouring the warm gel on Lance's wounds. The younger man cried out from the stinging, waking him up instantly.

"Sod me with a hammer!" he cried. His wounds weren't deep, thankfully, but they would need some time to heal. "Fergus, what happened?"

"We locked ourselves in like you said," he told Lance. "They broke down the door, and we killed as many as we could. Morrigan was fantastic, I can see why you love her."

"Where is she?" Lance asked, reaching out to feel for her. "Is she here?"

"They took her," Fergus said. "They separated us, and they took her."

"Impossible," said Lance. "She wouldn't go down without a fight. She wouldn't."

"She didn't. She killed as many as she could before she ran out of magic. I think they used some sort of poison on her. She was still alive when they grabbed her, I know it."

Fergus reached beside him, produced her staff, Wintersbreath. Lance gripped it, felt its chill.

"No," he whispered. Struggling, he sat up, grimacing from his wounds. "Where'd they go? I have to find them."

"Wait," Fergus said. "Wait, brother. You cannot."

Lance rubbed his eyes. It was bright out, morning. "How long?"

"Hours ago," said Fergus. "I don't think they left any tracks."

"They were sloppy, they weren't the best," said Lance. "They left tracks, hundreds of them. They had to!"

"Calm down. We _will_ find her. We have to think rationally. You're hurt, and we need to get you aid."

"There's no time for that! She's out there and I've got to find her."

"It's a trap," Fergus insisted. "Can't you figure that out? This is what they want."

"I'll kill them, it doesn't matter."

"It does matter. Can't you see that?" asked Fergus. "If we want revenge then we need to be smart about it."

"While they do gods know what to her? While they rape her? Kill her?"

"Get a hold of yourself, man. She will die if you don't."

"Sod off, Fergus," said Lance. He stood, groaning and coughing as he did. He thought he tasted blood. His back ached, and he had one hell of a headache. Standing, he couldn't see straight. He couldn't stand still. The entire world was off balance.

"Not again," Lance mumbled. "I can't lose you again."

Fergus watched, numb. He didn't know what to do, how to console his brother. Lance stumbled into the makeshift graveyard.

Lance fell to his knees, right in front of Marna's grave. He saw his handprint that Morrigan had burned there. He grit his teeth, tasting blood again.

"I want to kill them," said Lance. "Help me kill them."

"I will," said Fergus. "But you are hurt. And you have visitors."

He waved at the "visitors", Velanna and Oghren. They had just arrived, and were dirty from travel. Oghren looked especially upset, having had to ride on the horse before Velanna, It was indignant for a Dwarf.

"Lance, the Vigil was attacked," said Velanna. "Assassins. We killed them all."

"It was a dupe," said Lance. "A sham. The real attack was here. They wanted Morrigan."

"What for?"

"To get to me? I don't know, it seems like something someone would do to get me."

"We'll get her back," said Oghren. "Don't you worry about that. I promised you once."

"Yeah," said Lance. "I'm getting her."

Velanna reached into her pack, pulled out his armor and his sword. Starfang and the dragonskin.

"These belong to you," she said. "I thought they might be nice to have."

"Thanks," Lance said. He pressed his chest wound lightly, grimacing. He pulled the breastplate on, made sure it was tight enough to hold the poultices to his injury. It hurt. Fergus had to help him with the leggings and the gauntlets.

"Let me make a stop to the armory," said Fergus. "I must outfit myself appropriately."

"Okay," Lance nodded. To Velanna, he said, "Do you have any idea where to start?"

Velanna shook her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't check the bodies. I didn't look for anything."

"But you can track?" Lance asked. "You can use your Dalish magic to find them?"

"I can try," Velanna said. Lance nodded.

He looked down at his hand, ran his thumb over the ring Morrigan had given him.

"So can I," he said.

His body ached, but he could fight through the pain. He had to. He'd been in worse shape before.

He wondered what they'd hoped to gain from all this. If they wanted to hurt him, then why not just kill him? They had their chance. All this reeked of conspiracy. He couldn't help but think back to that letter warning him of discontent in the Bannorn.

Was this somehow connected? Maybe it was all a part of the plot, some way to get at him, or Ferelden as a whole. He had no delusions that he was anywhere near that important, but the citizenry seemed to think so. He knew well enough that his death would leave the nobility in upheaval.

"I'm ready," said Fergus, returning with his sword and shield, dressed in chainmail. He grinned, reaching up to rub his beard. "We'll find her, little brother, I promise."

Lance nodded, poked his side experimentally, wincing at the sharp pain. He looked at Velanna, who nodded and raised her hand to cast healing magic on him.

"The others? Do they know?" he asked her. She shook her head.

"I told them to expect us gone for a while."

"Good enough," said Lance. "Let's go."


	13. Chapter 13

Morrigan snapped her elbow back, cracking it against the head of one of her captors. He cried out, stumbled.

Blood trickled down the side of her head, and she didn't need to examine it to know that it wasn't too bad. It had knocked her unconscious but she was okay now. Good enough.

She tried to climb away, pulling herself along the dirt.

Her vision was blurry still, and her head pounded. Someone shouted behind her, rushed towards her.

Morrigan flipped on her back, kicked out, knocking him back. She kicked again, and again, trying to buy herself enough time.

She struggled, tried to think of the proper spell to shapeshift into a bird or small animal and sneak away. Whatever poison they had used on her was muddying her ability to think. She couldn't find her spells or anything. Her mind was scrambling.

No matter, she would just have to make it work.

So she crawled. Another assassin called out, tried to rouse the others to search for her.

"She's getting away! Find her!"

She hissed air through her teeth, tried to clear her thoughts enough to figure out what to do. Lance would be searching for her. She knew it.

Though her senses were muddled she could feel him through the ring, incensed but alive. And these men were in a lot of trouble just as soon as he found them.

She felt her ankle grabbed by one of her pursuers, and she kicked again. She felt a wrist snap, and she grinned at the cry of pain. And she dug her elbows in and crawled faster, faster. She had to get away, struggled to.

Another grabbed her, flipped her over and raised his fist to hit her.

"Got ya, bitch!" he declared. Morrigan thrust her heel into his nose and laughed at his cry of pain. She turned again, realized that she wouldn't be getting away. She had to do something else entirely.

She got a handful of mud, pressed her open palm into the ground. One of the men grabbed her, pulled her away. She let him.

She gripped a tree trunk as she was dragged along the ground, left a muddy palm print on the bark.

_Find me, Warden._

The man hit her in the back of the head, knocking her senseless. She felt herself floating, losing her consciousness.


	14. Chapter 14

Lance drew his sword.

"Stand back," he ordered. Oghren, Velanna and Fergus drew their own weapons, backing up to cover each direction. They were surrounded.

"Where are they?" Fergus whispered, unable to sense the Darkspawn as well as the Wardens.

"Show yourselves," Lance ordered. The Darkspawn weren't known for their ability to sneak around. In fact, there shouldn't even be any Darkspawn on the surface, not after the defeat of the Archdemon.

Quietly, hesitantly, the Darkspawn stepped out of the trees, into plain view.

Lance and his party had stumbled on a few signs of Morrigan's passing, signs she no doubt left for them to follow. He could tell they were headed in the right direction thanks to the ring, and now with some very tangible signs he knew he could hunt her down and save her. Hopefully she would be grateful this time around.

"We come to talk peace," said the lead Darkspawn.

_Great, another talker._

"Peace? Didn't know Darkspawn could even say that word," said Lance, raising his sword.

"We had a truce, once," said the Hurlock, his rictus grin casting irony on the whole conversation.

"Alright, dog," he said. "Which master was yours?"

"The Mother," said the Hurlock. "But no longer. We are serving a new master now."

"What do you want?" Lance asked, scanning their surroundings. The Darkspawn were all around them. Not very many, but enough. A few Genlocks, but mostly Hurlocks. Thankfully no Ogres. That would have complicated things.

"We were bidden to give you a gift," said the Hurlock. He reached behind him, causing Lance to tense. He raised his sword, ready to strike.

The Hurlock produced cloth, purple, of fine quality. Morrigan's.

"She is with us," said the Hurlock. "Our master has need of your company."

"Who is your master?"

The Hurlock chuckled.

"You will know in time. But the time is not now."

He dropped the cloth; let it float it to Lance's feet.

"Is she alive?" he already knew the answer, could feel her through the ring. He just wanted to gauge whether or not the brute was lying to him.

"For now," the Hurlock replied.

"She'd better stay alive," said Lance. "Or you're the first one I'm coming for."

The Hurlock chuckled.

"We look forward to our meeting. We much desire to avenge The Mother."

"I much desire to kill you."

The Hurlock chuckled again.

"Return to your Keep," he said. "You will be contacted there."

"No," said Lance. "I'm going to find whoever did this. I'm going to kill him. If your master wants to talk to me, then tell him to find me."

"She said you would do this," the Hurlock rattled. "She is wise."

"Your master is a she?"

The Hurlock only chuckled, glanced back to his company. With a jerk of his head they were off, disappearing into the woods. Lance wanted to follow after them, track them down. But it would be no good. They would take some convoluted path through the woods to shake them.

"This way," Lance said, pointing down the path. "She's this way."

Fergus nodded. "Talking Darkspawn?"

"It's complicated," said Lance. "Very complicated."

"Regardless," said Velanna. "We don't have any time to waste."

"Agreed. Let's move."

Lance headed on down the path, following the sensation of Morrigan's presence, her anxiety. He stooped down once or twice to examine a handprint in the mud or on a tree. The assassins were clever enough to disguise their own tracks, wearing cloth-covered sandals that left no indention in the ground.

There were a few broken sticks, leaves knocked aside. It would have seemed very innocuous to someone who didn't know what exactly they were looking for. Morrigan was very crafty, knew how to leave the exact signals Lance would home in on.

_I'm coming._

Lance was running top speed now, hoping to close the gap between them and the assassins. He wondered again who was responsible, and why. What did they hope to get? Why go to such lengths?

He was having trouble thinking straight, still so concerned with Morrigan. They swore never to be apart again. They swore to each other that it would _never_ happen. He had to find her. He could feel himself… slipping, somehow. He couldn't explain it but being away from her made him feel wrong, like he was going crazy.

Maybe he was. Maybe he was insane, and she was the only one keeping him stable, strung together. Maybe without her, he was damaged goods, an insane murderer.

Didn't matter now. Didn't matter so long as she was away. He had to find her, no matter what, and just like last time, he would leave nothing behind him but bodies.

Maker help whoever had taken her.


	15. Chapter 15

Florek waited impatiently. It was quite embarrassing for him. He prided himself on his patience, his ability to remain calm and relaxed in all things. But here, with his plan now well underway, he could hardly contain himself.

It was childish, he knew, but altogether so exciting. He couldn't wait to see the Warden, the look on his face when the game ended. He couldn't wait to win.

He'd been practicing, testing out his powers on the servants, making sure he was in the proper shape to kill them all. The Warden he would keep, if he could. If not…

Oh, so exciting!

The Darkspawn returned, right on the heels of Florek's assassins. His personal Crow stood in the corner, arms crossed. He'd argued against sending such rabble after the Warden, but Florek knew what he wanted. These men would be easy to kill, easy to catch the Warden's attention. They would lead him right where Florek needed them to.

And with the woman… he grinned.

The woman was important to the Warden, or so Florek had been told. He would rend the heavens if it meant getting her back. Just the sort of off-kilter madness needed to take control of one so strong as the Warden. The pieces were falling into place.

"We have given him the message," said the Hurlock. The Darkspawn set him on guard, made him uneasy. He'd not had the privilege of facing them during the Blight, but he knew their reputation. Working so closely with them, even to Florek, had seemed vulgar. But he'd been assured of their loyalty, their utility.

"Our mutual benefactor seems to know her game very well," said Florek. The Hurlock made a noise halfway between a growl and a purr.

"The master knows her quarry. She is the huntress."

"Yes. Indeed," said Florek. "I only wonder what her stake in this is."

"This is not for us to say," said the Hurlock. "We only serve."

"But you yourself have a grudge against the Warden Commander?"

"Yes. We would like to kill him."

"Well I'm afraid that you will go disappointed," said Florek. The Hurlock hissed. "The Warden is mine. The girl, however, is yours. Once I have the Warden."

"The master much desires to speak with her."

"About what, I wouldn't hazard a guess."

Florek thought about Morrigan, the Warden's lover. She was pretty, that was certain, but her abrasive attitude had made her quite intolerable. Florek had yet to speak with her, but the assassins hadn't used the nicest words in reference to her.

And if her miniscule reputation were to be believed, then she was like that throughout most of the day. Florek sighed, and stood.

"I think I will have a chat with our new guest," said Florek. "Unless your master would rather I didn't?"

The Hurlock bowed, and stepped away. Florek grinned and made the trip down to the dungeons. Morrigan had been locked up there, and gagged, to keep her silent. It hadn't worked.

She was in her cell, tied to a chair, shouting and cursing to annoy whoever might be listening. The Wards of Neutralization had kept her from escaping. If the rumors were true, then she was adept at secret, unknown magic. And that made her dangerous.

"Hello, dearest," Florek announced as he turned the corner into her cell, she was still fuming. And then she saw him. Whether she recognized him or not, Florek could not tell. But she did seem to know him, in some way.

"Ah, so 'tis betrayal that drove those assassins," she said. "Cliché but still very… delicious."

"I'm glad you are in such high spirits," said Florek. "I was afraid I might have to break them out of you."

"Oh, no," said Morrigan. "Why wouldn't I be in high spirits? I am here, face-to-face with my enemy, and soon I shall be free."

"Optimistic little thing, aren't you?"

"'Tis not optimism, 'tis pragmatism. You have just made your worst enemy."

"And why should I fear you, little witch? You have no powers here."

"Oh, 'tis not me you should fear. 'Tis my Warden."

"_Your_ Warden?"

"Oh, my, yes," said Morrigan, smiling pleasantly. "Why, he'll kill you all to find me. Quite violently."

Florek grinned. "That, my dear, is exactly what I'm counting on."

"What?" Morrigan's smile dropped. Florek grinned even wider.

"Your Warden, the hapless knight, coming to save his damsel in distress… I couldn't have laid a better trap if I tried."

"You will not live," said Morrigan. "I promise it."

"Your promises mean very little, with your arms tied behind you."

"We shall see," said Morrigan. "I however do not think that you will have much longer to live."

"Empty threats. That is all."

"As it pleases you. Brush aside my warnings, believe yourself superior. Whatever makes you comfortable. I shall merely watch."

"Of course," said Florek. "For now. I think I might have you take a more active role later."

Morrigan narrowed her eyes at him.

"Goodbye," she said. Florek laughed. He turned to leave the cell, but halted before reaching the door.

"Oh, yes," he said, turning slightly. "We will be moving you. To the Deep Roads. You are familiar with them, yes?"

"Of course," said Morrigan. "So is he."

"Then he shall have no trouble finding us," said Florek. He left the cell, leaving Morrigan in the dark. She would soon learn to just shut up soon enough. Or he would have her gagged again.

There was someone else in the narrow hall of the dungeon, a person that he hadn't expected to arrive so soon. Or at all.

"Yes," he said. "Excuse me if your visit comes as a bit of a shock. Our… guest is waiting for you, if you'd like."

"No," she said. "Not yet."

Florek cleared his throat, pulled at his collar as though it were just a bit too tight. He took a step to one side, as though offering her room to pass.

"Yes. Well. If there's anything at all…"

"No. My servants will move her to the Deep Roads, at once," she said. Florek nodded.

"As you wish. The Warden is on his way," said Florek. "I think he may be a tinge harder to trap than we first anticipated."

"No," she said. "It is all as I have foreseen."

"Foreseen… yes, of course. Please, if I may beg your pardon…" Florek gestured towards the stairs, wanting to leave as soon as possible. She nodded, allowed him to pass.

Florek shivered as he did. Quietly, climbing the steps, he told himself that the money, the power, would all make it worth it in the end. And soon enough he wouldn't have to see her. Ever.


	16. Chapter 16

"This way," Lance said, looking through the path ahead. It was getting dark. Velanna had urged him to stop, to make camp. They would continue to follow in the morning, she said. It would do no good for Morrigan or anyone else to catch up to them exhausted.

He hadn't listened. He was too worried to sleep, running on adrenaline. He would kill them, free her, no matter what.

"This path," he said. "These woods. This is leading to Bann Florek's lands."

"Do you think he has something to do with it?" asked Fergus. "Do you think the assassins have something to do with him?"

"I don't know," said Lance. "It's all so confusing. He might be."

"He's a nobody," said Fergus. "Do you think he even has the balls to do something like this?"

Lance simply shrugged and went on ahead. He wasn't too interested in the specifics right now. He only needed a direction. He needed to find her, to find whoever had kidnapped her. That was all he needed. Conspiracy theories, grandiose plans, none of that mattered to him.

"Sod it," said Lance. "Sod it all. We're going to find Florek, and we're going to ask some very pointed questions."

Fergus nodded. Florek was a vassal of the Arl of Denerim, a space currently occupied by the most rotten, depraved individual Lance had known since Howe. Alistair spent an inordinate amount of time keeping him on a leash.

Lance didn't exactly care if it would be impolitic to just kick down the door. If the Landsmeet wanted to give him some drawn out bullshit lecture on overstepping his powers then they could just send him a letter. And shove it up their collective ass.

Lance was a bit past caring about intricacies and politics.

So when the gate guard demanded to know who he was and what business he had there, Lance proceeded to beat the man to within an inch of his life. The two other guards were cautious to move against the group.

"Can anyone here," said Lance. "Take me to see the Bann?"

The sun was setting now. The blue haze of a post-dusk night beginning to set in. It would be cold, freezing almost if you weren't ready. It would be hard getting back.

"We cannot let you in, Warden Commander," said one of the guards. He reached for his sword.

Lance didn't wait, didn't bother to debate anymore. He drew his sword, slashing through the guard's throat in a single stroke. The second guard stumbled forward, trying to draw his own sword. Fergus was upon him, parrying a strike, and running him through.

"So much for subtlety," said Fergus. "Shall we just fight our way in, then?"

"To arms!" cried a guard on the wall. "The estate is under attack!"

Oghren snorted. "Sounds like a plan to me."

Lance gave the gate a kick, rattling it. The bar on the other side held. Lance kicked again, and again, cracking the bar, breaking it so that the gate flew open.

Lance held Starfang tightly, stepped in. An arrow whistled past, embedding itself in the heavy wooden door. He charged through.

A few guards were assembling, carrying polearms to set up a more solid defense. They weren't in line yet, making their pike line useless. Lance set upon them, slashing. Starfang simply ignored their armor, slicing neatly through bone, muscle.

There were a few cries of pain, and Lance was pushing through, to the estate proper. If Florek was here, he was going to be given a very stern interrogation.

The guards were unprepared. It wasn't common for a lesser Bann to need any sort of protection outside of enough men to clear away bandits, and so these men were nothing. They cut through them at an unbelievable rate.

The others followed closely, keeping his flank secured. They didn't dare pull him out of it, try to smack sense into him. Velanna agreed with him, secretly. She wanted him to hurt these guards, to find Morrigan and get some satisfaction out of it.

For their part, the guards were doing a good job of being slaughtered. Velanna shot magic here and there, keeping them at bay, managing to kill a few. Lance was a juggernaut, powering through the halls of the estate, smashing guards against the walls, slicing them apart.

The throne room was nearly at hand, where Bann Florek would be waiting anxiously, likely surrounded by a core of his strongest guardsmen.

They wouldn't be any trouble.

Lance kicked open the door to the throne room, waiting that essential second before stepping in. Barreling through the door like a blind bronto would only get him killed. So he opened his eyes, took a breath, and readied himself.

Florek looked to be alone.

The throne room was the traditional Ferelden style; simple, lit by a large fire. Florek sat with a large fur robe draped over his shoulders. He looked altogether confident, if not overly so. He didn't seem to be in the least bit perturbed by the bodies and blood that stained his estate.

"Warden Commander," said Florek, trying to look the part of the dapper nobleman. "Had I expected you I would have given my guards the night off."

"Shut up," said Lance, stepping into the room. He glanced left and right, making sure that there was no ambush. With an almost imperceptible gesture, Velanna and Oghren spread to either side, guarding him. Fergus stayed behind his brother.

"Care to explain why assassins that attacked Highever are taking shelter here?" asked Lance. "Care to explain why someone very important to me was abducted?"

"Certainly," said Florek. "But now is not the time."

Lance was about to ask what the Bann meant by that. But the Bann summoned a wave of energy to knock Lance and his party to the ground.

"Shit, he's a mage!" Lance shouted. Velanna was up first, Lance floundering for a moment to get to his feet. She shot a bolt of ice at him, hoping to freeze him to the spot. Florek rolled out of the throne, came up with his hands raised and shot lightning at her.

Velanna raised her staff, deflected the lightning to the ceiling of the narrow chamber and causing chunks of stone to rain down.

Lance was up now, ducking under a fireball and hoping Fergus and Oghren had the presence of mind to be out of the way.

Lance shouted wordlessly, bringing down a bolt of energy – fueled by his abilities as a Templar. Florek was knocked off his feet, his magic being drained from him. It gave Lance the precious opening, the chance to strike him down.

Of course, it didn't go so smoothly.

Florek's hands were up at once, and a bolt of flame slammed into Lance's chest, sending him reeling. He hit the far wall, shouting in pain as his wounds reopened.

"Sod me, that hurts," he whimpered. Oghren and Fergus charged, the Dwarf laughing and shouting.

He had better luck in taking Florek down, his Dwarven resistance to magic kicking in. Unfortunately resistance to magic didn't extend to being kicked in the "stones". Fergus slashed downwards, aiming for where Florek lay on the floor.

Unfortunately, Florek was just agile enough to jump to his feet, avoiding the blow. He delivered an open palm slap to the face, followed by an elbow. Fergus cried out, stumbling backwards.

Florek raised his hands again, eager to summon more magic.

Lance ran, pushing against the pain and fighting his desire to just crawl into a hole and hide. He slammed into Florek, and they fell back. They rolled, landed a few feet away.

Florek struggled in his heavy robe to stand quickly. Lance was faster. He was up, sword pointed at Florek.

"Wait!" Florek shouted, trying to keep himself from being skewered. He was somewhere between terror and laughter. "You are just as good as they say."

"Where is she?" Lance asked. Florek frowned.

"The girl? Your woman, right?" he wet his lips, looking left and right, as if searching for a way out.

"I'll kill you," said Lance. Florek nodded.

"She is being held in the dungeon."

"Fergus," said Lance. His brother stumbled forward, rubbing at his nose. "Watch the Bann. If he moves, cut him into _very_ tiny pieces."

"Can do."

Lance stood upright, groaning again at his wounds. He couldn't really remember the last time he was hurt so bad. Sure he'd come close, quite a few times, but he was now afraid that he was wounded beyond repair. He'd worry about that later; have Morrigan give him the full work-up.

But then something shrieked, causing him to fall to his knees. He whipped his head around, trying to clear it. The keening grew louder, well past his ability to fight it. He felt his eyes water and tasted copper.

"Fergus!" Lance called. "Fergus, something's wrong!"

He reached forward, trying to find his path. He was having a lot more trouble seeing now. He looked back at where he thought Fergus was, trying to concentrate past the shrieking, the ear-splitting, mind numbing pain.

"Fergus?" he managed. His brother was out of commission. Lance's vision cleared just enough to see that he was laying prone, Florek lording over him.

Oghren and Velanna were down, too.

"So sorry, Warden Commander," said Florek, grinning from ear to ear. "But it appears as though you must wait for our next meeting."

He looked up, at someone Lance couldn't quite see.

"Ah," said Florek. "I was wondering when you'd swoop in. And not a moment too soon."

Florek wiped a bit of blood from his split lip.

"I only wish I had the time for a proper greeting," said Florek, looking down at Lance with scorn. "Do try your best to find us, Warden Commander. I will wait patiently."

"You're going to die," said Lance, coughing. Spots appeared at the edge of his vision. He knew he was slipping away. "You will die."

"Do your worst, Warden. Do your worst."

"Oh, you'll come to regret those words," Lance said and passed out.


	17. Chapter 17

Sometimes he dreamed about her. He told about it, once or twice, and she had merely chalked it up to one of those overly romantic things he was occasionally prone to doing and called it "sweet" on principle. Whether or not she actually thought it was "sweet" he was unsure. She could sometimes be sarcastic like that, and then be sincere about it later.

He supposed it was one of her charms.

Regardless, lying unconscious on the floor of a very cold Ferelden estate made him think about her.

They were lying in bed one morning, after another session of lovemaking, and she was trying to wriggle out of his embrace.

"Stay still," he told her. She laughed aloud, pushed at him.

"No! No!" she mock-protested. "Oh, no!"

"You're just making this hard for yourself."

"Oh, how might I ever fight off such a _strong_ man?"

"I love it when you play the damsel."

"I know."

She nuzzled him, moaning in satisfaction. She enjoyed being able to just spend the day in bed, no worries. Those days were few and far between, making each one incalculably precious.

It was funny. Lance had railed against his nobility all his life, desperate for a much simpler existence. Now, if only for a few hours, he had it. And he was sure once more that he didn't want it to go away.

"You know what I remember?" he asked. She made a curious noise, perked up an eyebrow.

"What is that?"

"I remember a witch that refused to 'play house'."

"This is not 'house'."

"Isn't it?"

"Well… I am not baking bread. You are not painting a shed, and there are no children running about."

"Well," he said rolling onto his back. "That wasn't really in our future anyways."

"You always assumed we had a future together?"

"Didn't you?"

She turned to look at him, frowning slightly.

"No," she said. "I did not."

He caught her gaze, looked away shyly. She was right.

"Oh, why is my Warden so glum?" she asked, edging closer to him. She leaned across him, smiling mischievously. "We are together now, so what is the problem?"

"No problem."

"Liar."

He sighed. "Well, maybe… I dunno. It just seems like going through the motions at this point."

"How do you mean?"

He sat up, stretched a bit.

"I feel restless, you know? I want to be back out there," he gestured towards the window. "Back on the road, the Blight, fighting bad guys, everything."

He sighed loudly, turned to look out the window.

With a groan, he added, "At first I thought it was because I missed you. Now I think it's just because we had so much fun."

"Fun?" she asked. "You call that fun?"

"You didn't enjoy yourself?"

She thought for a moment. "Perhaps."

"You, me, Alistair and Leliana and everyone," said Lance, turning again to face her, smiling. "Being heroes, kicking ass and saving the day again and again."

"Leave the fool out of this," she said. "I rather like being without him."

"He's not so bad," said Lance. "Besides, you needed us both."

"I only ever needed you," she corrected. She perched herself on her elbows. "I only ever wanted you."

"I'd be careful if I were you," said Lance. "That sounded dangerously close to flattery."

"Perhaps it was meant to," she said. "Perhaps I intended to flatter you?"

"I think that would be a first."

"Would it now?"

"Have I told you today how much I love you?"

She rolled her eyes, though she smiled just the same. "_Really, now. _Must you always turn to sweet semantics?"

"I love you," said Lance again. She smiled, pulled him to her, kissed him.

"Warden," she said, pushing him away enough to look him in the eye. "I love you, too."

He coughed, spat blood. He pushed himself up, on weak arms.

He groaned loudly, struggled to stand.

He felt like he'd been run through a mill, torn and shredded. For all intents and purposes he had. There was enough of him left in various parts of Ferelden to rebuild him twice over, he was sure. Regardless, he still had a job to do. He couldn't go yet.

"Fergus?" He rasped, searching the dim hall for his brother. He found him lying not far from where they had been beaten to near death. Lance stumbled to him, feeling tightness in his chest that constricted his breathing considerably.

"Fergus?"

His brother coughed, spat up bile. He turned to keep himself from choking, coughing and sputtering.

"Maker's breath," he groaned. "What happened?"

"I think we got our asses handed to us," said Lance. "You okay?"

"I'm well enough. I'll be alright."

"Good. I'm going to check on the others."

Lance stumbled a bit, half-crawled to where Velanna lay in a heap, cradling her staff. At some point she must have tried to use her magic to fight, to try to keep conscious. It failed, obviously.

"Hey," he whispered, nudging her gently. She stirred, opened her eyes. She saw him, furrowed her brow in confusion and then smiled to see him.

"So I take it we won?"

"Not quite," said Lance. "I think they still have Morrigan."

"Where are they?" she asked, trying to sit up.

"They took off," said Lance. "Left us here?"

"They had a chance to kill us but didn't take it? What's wrong with them?"

"I'd suggest a firm belief in honor before reason if I couldn't smell fish a mile away."

"What?"

"This smells fishy."

"What?"

"Just wake Oghren."

She stood, using her staff to support herself. She was breathing in ragged breaths, apparently hard-affected by whatever magic had put them out. Lance was quite a bit curious as to how it had happened.

It wasn't magic he'd ever seen before, and between Morrigan, Velanna, Anders and Wynne, he'd seen quite a bit. This was something else, though, something that he didn't even know how to fight.

Part of training to wield the abilities of a Templar had been to discipline himself to resist most forms of magic. Any common mage fiddling with his head would fail, and even a good one would have a tough time of it.

This would have required a very powerful mage, of extreme power.

Maybe even…

No, that was out of the question. As convoluted as this whole scheme might be, there was no reason to go chasing ghosts, to assume that anything greater than a rogue mage noble was at work.

To that end, they had to get well underway.

Velanna smacked Oghren with her staff, causing him to complain about being roused. Velanna retorted that he'd been on binges ten times as bad as this and to get up immediately.

Lance teetered on his feet for a second, head still swimming about. He wasn't sure if he was in any shape to be following after assassins and mages and mysterious magic, but he wasn't about let them get away with Morrigan.

But where did he start?

He reached down, touched the ring. He rubbed it, as he often did – though he was more accused of "playing with it".

Where was she?

"I think I can feel her," said Lance. Fergus looked a bit confused.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Lance held up his hand, showing off his ring.

"This nifty little thing's supposed to be a link between us. I can feel her, sometimes. When she lets me."

Fergus shook her head. "What man in his right mind would agree to that?"

"Don't know," said Lance. "I'm going after her, though."

"So am I," said Fergus. "I can't leave my little brother to chase after dragons without me, can I?"

Lance smirked at him, rubbed at the ring once more.

He honestly didn't know how to use it to find her. Nine times out of ten he intuited her location by rote. He could just sort of "figure out" where she was. Right now, trying his damndest, he could only get the faintest idea where she was.

_Come on, babe, help me out here._

He groaned, reached up to rub his eyes.

And then an idea popped into his head. Whether or not it was from the ring, from Morrigan, or just magic intuition he couldn't tell. But he had the sudden, disturbing, fearful feeling that he knew where they were taking her.

"Oghren," he said. The Dwarf muttered something. "Where's the nearest Deep Roads entrance?"


	18. Chapter 18

"Oh, I don't know," said Florek to Morrigan. "I've warmed up to you in the last forty-five minutes."

She didn't speak. Couldn't, really. The Darkspawn had gagged her and were currently carrying her on a wooden spit. She was hanging by her ankles and wrists, in a most uncomfortable fashion. She pretended to be bored, or disinterested, or otherwise indisposed.

Really, she was focusing all her willpower into her magic, trying to make her location be known to Lance. It was a lot of work, and a lot of magic. She supposed that she could have tried to escape, to set fire to her bonds and fight her way out.

It would be difficult though, without her staff. Her magic was still dwindling, barely enough to send out this mental signal. It would be far easier to bide her time, gather her strength once more and use it to escape if she needed to.

In the meantime Lance wouldn't let the entire ocean stop him from getting to her, a tenacity that often got on her nerves. This once, however, it would come in handy.

"I like you," Florek decided. "You're quiet and you listen well. A good woman if ever there was one."

He touched his lip, the split made by Lance's clenched fist.

"Your boyfriend is a lot a stronger than I anticipated," he said. "I suppose that was to be expected. I was quite afraid that I had underestimated him. It's good to know that I was right."

He sighed loudly, poked at Morrigan where she hanged. The Hurlock Disciples stood watch, as per their master's bidding. Morrigan hadn't seen their "master", but she had caught on to enough of the conversations to know that Florek was working beside someone else.

Whatever his game was, this silent partner had bigger aims. The Darkspawn had let on as much.

Florek seemed to have his aim set on the Ferelden throne. Normally Morrigan would have applauded any effort to depose Alistair, to take all the strength of monarchy for themselves. However, this Florek was a fool twice over.

First for opposing both she and Lance, and second for siding with someone who would only use him for their own goals. It was incredibly stupid.

"What?" asked Florek, noticing her distant gaze. "Am I boring you? Oh, pardon me for trying to make small talk. I would think it a matter of course for the _hostage_ to humor their captor."

He reached over to pull the gag from her mouth.

"What say you?"

"Go sod yourself," she said. He frowned.

"Well, now, that isn't something I expect from an Arlessa."

"I am no Arlessa," she said. He snorted.

"With a mouth like that is there any wonder?"

"I am going to make sure that Lance pays you special attention when he arrives."

"Oh, I intend to make sure of that," said Florek. "I am going to have the greatest time with your Warden Commander. All the fun I can have."

He was blood mage, Morrigan could tell. "Fun" could mean a variety of perverse, unnatural things to a blood mage. She had no personal qualms against it, but where it concerned her, where it intended to do her harm, she could understand how blood magic could be considered… unnatural.

If this particular blood mage intended to control Lance, if he thought to use the Hero of Ferelden against his country…

_Promise me, Warden; promise me you won't give in._

He was strong. He was the strongest man she'd ever seen. That meant something, right? He would not give in to a blood mage, to an ambitious fool of a man who couldn't see past his own nose. He would never stop fighting.

And if she was on the line…

Oh, no.

She realized with horror the full extent of her captors' depraved plans. Florek might have his sights set on the throne, on the Commander, but his partner, using Darkspawn like slaves?

And her at the center of it all?

If she was in danger, if she was hurt…

He would come for her, no chance of stopping him…

And inevitably, he would find her, bleeding and broken.

_Don't do it._

If she was hurt-

_Please._

If she was dying-

_Warden, stay away._

Then he would sell out his country, honor be damned. Without her… he would do anything.

"Do you see it?" asked Florek. "Do you see what I mean to do now? I will have my victory, my throne- _my_ throne. And your Warden will hand it to me. And you? You will live just long enough to see it."

"When I get out of here," said Morrigan, looking her captor in the eye. "I am going to kill you."

"You may try, little witch," he said. "You may try."

One of the Darkspawn Disciples approached, blackened saber in hand.

"He is coming," he said. "Just as she foretold."

"Good," said Florek. "I trust you and your… men will have things under control?"

The Darkspawn might have chuckled, might have smiled. It didn't. Morrigan didn't think they could.

"We will slaughter him."

Florek shook his head. "Not yet. Leave just enough for me."

The Darkspawn snorted. "As you wish."

The Disciple looked to his comrades, the few Hurlocks left over from the Architect's experiments. Morrigan knew the story well enough, what little tidbits Lance had given her and what the other Wardens had said. The Architect's forces had scattered after their destruction. Those under the Mother had done likewise.

These Disciples – these talking abominations - were working together now, as mercenaries of sorts. Whoever their master was, they must have been very powerful indeed. The Darkspawn were organizing once more, without the flag of an Archdemon, without the components essential for the Blight to start again.

Lance had killed Urthemiel – twice. The thought made her wince.

He'd slain the Mother and the Architect, had seen to it that they would not trouble the surface lands again. The Darkspawn were to be scattered, having long since returned to the Deep Roads to begin the cycle anew. There would not be another Blight, not for centuries, not until well after she and Lance had died and been buried.

But if they weren't scattered, and if Lance was about to give up his own country…

Whatever was going on here, she'd only seen the very tip of it. There was something horrible at work here, something that meant to keep them from their final, long-deserved victory.

But what could it-

She gasped involuntarily. Of course. Of course, of course, of course.

All roads, all things led back to this one point, to this one secret.

Flemeth was back.


	19. Chapter 19

The Deep Roads.

He hated them. He'd spent so long in their suffocating embrace, so long stumbling in the dark beneath the world. It was numb down there. It was impossible to navigate clearly. Once you stepped through those stone gates, once you entered the deep dark of the earth, you were swept away – cut off from the world entirely.

It was the last place he ever wanted to go. It was the last place he needed to see again.

But if they had taken Morrigan there, if she was being carried off to some Darkspawn lair – as a trap for him or otherwise – he would do whatever was necessary to get her back. Even venture into the murkiest, darkest place imaginable.

"Torch," Lance said, reaching out for Fergus to hand it to him. They'd spent the better part of an hour breaking off sticks and branches to fashion into torches in preparation for going into the underground.

Lance held the torch in one hand and Starfang in the other, providing enough collective light to see by. He worried that it would be too much, that he would blind himself in the narrow, dark tunnels. He had to manage, though. For Morrigan's sake.

The entrance was little more than a blasted, rusted hole in the world. The Dwarves had once made great, sprawling empires under the earth. And then the Darkspawn had come, destroying everyone and everything in their path.

Now, the Dwarves were left with only two of their great cities.

Lance had visited Orzammar before, though he thought it considerably less fantastic than the Dwarves led him to believe.

"Here we go," said Lance, stepping cautiously towards the ruined door. Oghren was at his side, a veteran fighter of the wars against the Darkspawn in the narrow corridors of the Deep Roads.

"I've got your back, Commander," said Oghren. Lance nodded.

"Fergus, you might want to stick close."

His brother nodded, gulping loudly. He was perhaps the only person Lance knew who had not journeyed into the Deep Roads as he had. Fergus would need to be guarded against the Darkspawn. He was not a Warden, and every encounter with the monsters would put him at risk of infection. Lance didn't know how he would handle it.

The ring throbbed on his finger, and he didn't know why. It might have been Morrigan trying to communicate something to him. It might have been his imagination. He just wasn't sure of anything anymore.

It didn't matter. He was going to find her. Whether or not she intended him to.

"Be wary," Lance said. "Once you step in here, there's no going back."

"I'm ready, brother."

Lance nodded, sighed. He lifted his sword; let its runes light up the walls, the tunnel ahead of them. It was dark, very dark.

Once upon a time the Dwarves had used great rivers of molten magma from deep beneath the surface to light their Thaigs and cities. The tunnels were a lot cheerier then, or so he was told. Of course a Dwarf's definition of "cheery" left a lot to be desired.

These tunnels didn't look to be too overly corroded or infested with Darkspawn filth. There was little sign of infection, corruption. The Blight had apparently swept far past this section of the tunnels, or the Darkspawn had missed this section of tunnel, or had died out long ago. It was hard to tell which.

That puzzled Lance. As a Grey Warden he was supposed to be an expert at killing Darkspawn, yet he knew so very little about them. He knew what noises they made when they died, certainly. He knew how to sense them. He knew how tell where they were and for how long.

But when it came to practical knowledge – their habits, lifestyles, and even their societal quirks – he hadn't the faintest idea. Sometimes it was a bit depressing. Sometimes it made him wish he _could_ understand them better.

Other times he was satisfied to let them die out, to settle for knowing how to kill them and knowing little else. This was one of those times.

"No Darkspawn," said Oghren, keeping his voice low. "Very peculiar."

Lance nodded, scanning the telltale cracks and crevices in the tunnel walls. There were Dwarven runes scattered here and there, marking stories or distance, or whatever. Lance couldn't read them and had the strong suspicion that Oghren couldn't either.

"Which way, Commander?" Oghren asked, hefting his axe and glancing left and right. Lance looked to his ring finger, pointing his sword forward as if that would help.

"I don't know," said Lance. He felt his shoulders slump a little. He was getting a little more desperate, and these dark tunnels weren't helping. The light of the outside was getting farther away. Soon, they would be too far gone into the Deep to know which way was up.

"Wait a minute," Lance muttered. He felt something now, an electric twinge coming from the ring. Morrigan? He could feel her now, faint. Her magic was fading. He needed to get to her soon.

The tunnel carried on ahead for dozens of feet, unrelenting dark swallowing them whole. There was a fork some ten minutes ahead, leading down into the Deep Roads proper. They would be on their way to one of the great highways of the Deep Roads in no time.

Of course, that meant Darkspawn. And Thaig crawlers.

Maybe they would get lucky and run into a Legion patrol or a House Dace company looking for whatever it was they looked for. The chances were narrow, but it was something worth hoping for.

In the meantime they would be walking for quite a while. That was one thing that never ceased to astound him about the Deep Roads; all the walking. More so than on the surface even. What an astounding world.

"No Darkspawn," Lance told Fergus. "Not yet."

"How can you tell?" his brother whispered. Lance glanced back at him. He wondered how many Grey Warden secrets he was allowed to part with. Fergus was his brother, so it was okay, right? That was a bit of a loophole in the rules of secrecy.

"It's a Grey Warden thing," Lance said. Fergus nodded, eyebrows raised.

"You know," he said. "Nobody believed the Wardens, at first. When they warned about the Blight. We all thought they were grasping at straws, trying to make themselves seem important when they weren't anymore."

"Well now you know," said Lance. "Wonder how long this will last."

_Not very_, he thought bitterly. _Always leave it to me to make a sodding mess of peace._

He tried to breathe slowly, to keep himself steady. It was too easy to get panicked in the Deep Roads, to let the Darkspawn get the better of you when you least expected it. The Deep Roads had swallowed up more than one would-be hero.

But how many _actual_ heroes had they killed?

"Wait up," said Lance, stopping before the fork. One wrong turn here and you could be miles in the wrong direction before you got the chance to figure it out.

"What is it?"

"Aw, hell," Lance muttered.

From the darkness ahead, emerging faster than the Grey Wardens could sense them; a shrieking band of squealing Genlocks and Shrieks emerged.


	20. Chapter 20

He dug his sword out of the Hurlock, kicking its twitching body aside. A squat Genlock came at him, snarling and spitting. Lance almost didn't have enough room to swing his sword.

Velanna shot it with a bolt of fire, burning it to little more than charred ash before it could bring its own weapon to bear. Lance shot her a brief look of thanks, turning to behead the next Darkspawn, kicking at the swarm.

There were dozens of them. They filled the tunnel in front of them, trying to block or stall or kill the Wardens. Lance made sure Fergus stayed behind him, well out of the way of the _real_ danger. Whatever Darkspawn made its way past Lance and Oghren Fergus was able to handle with ease.

He knew well enough to keep his mouth shut and to watch where the blood spattered. The last thing Lance needed was to worry about his brother succumbing to the Taint.

Oghren was cursing madly, swinging his axe left and right and spitting on the Darkspawn that fell before him.

Lance held his torch out before him, keeping the Darkspawn at bay long enough to catch his breath. He didn't know how long they'd been fighting though it felt like weeks. They couldn't see the entrance from here. He suspected that they'd actually made considerable time, getting further and further into the tunnels.

Darkspawn corpses littered the Deep Roads behind them. The ground was slick with their blood.

Another Hurlock came squealing after him, and Lance sliced its throat with Starfang. It sputtered and fell to the side, bleeding out.

He skewered another Hurlock, an Alpha. It was older and stronger than any of the others and didn't drop easily. It growled, reached out to grab Lance even as he pulled himself along on his sword. Lance shouted, pushing the Hurlock Alpha away with a solid kick.

It stumbled backwards, arms waving madly. Lance swung his sword in as wide an arc as the increasingly narrow tunnel allowed, lopping off the Darkspawn's head.

The Darkspawn howled, stumbled forward. They struggled to get to grips with the Wardens, though it wasn't for lack of trying.

Lance slammed into the next Hurlock to approach, feeling the crunch of bones under his shoulder as it was smashed against the wall. He swung his sword in wider, mad arcs. With a sweep, he slammed his torch into another Darkspawn, burning it badly.

"Out of the way!" Velanna shouted, raising her staff to barrel through the Darkspawn. She pushed Lance aside as firmly as she could manage, causing him no small amount of confusion.

She raised her staff, called out a spell rather loudly.

There was a brief ripple of energy, something Lance hadn't seen before. His torch fizzled, dimmed considerably. The Darkspawn horde in front of them was thrown back, falling over itself in confusion.

Oghren shouted in frustration; he wasn't done killing.

Lance was up in an instant, descending on the faltering crowd. He slashed and stabbed, killing the Darkspawn as rapidly as he could. Oghren and Fergus joined in, with Velanna casting more spells to keep the Darkspawn stumbling.

Those few Darkspawn able to get standing again turned and ran. Velanna shot magic after them, spearing them and electrocuting them as they ran.

Soon, the Wardens were left by themselves in the growing dark of the Deep Roads.

"I think it's a safe bet that we're getting pretty close," said Fergus, whipping his sword about to clean it of Darkspawn blood.

Lance nodded, looking down and adjusting the fit of his ring on his finger. It was still faint, distant. She was there, somewhere.

He threw away his dying torch, holding his sword with both hands and depending on it to light the way. It cast a strange pale blue glow on the walls that made them seem even more alien than they already were.

A few of the runes were covered in Darkspawn blood, causing it to cast broken, staggered patterns of light on the walls. He bounded ahead, not willing to risk giving the Darkspawn the time necessary to regroup and turn back around.

He couldn't help but imagine them putting Morrigan on a spit over the fire. He would do anything to save her – absolutely anything.

He'd done it before, and he'd lost a little bit of himself in the process.

This wasn't the first time he'd been so willing to die for her, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. He wouldn't let any harm come to her, none at all. And if he found her and she was hurt, then he would kill every living thing in his way.

It was just how it had to be. There was no changing it.

He passed a few more dead Darkspawn, those that had succumb to their wounds. He kicked them experimentally, making sure they were fully dead.

The others were behind them, struggling to keep up. They kept themselves reasonably cautious, looking all about to be sure that there were no ambushes or hidden traps.

Lance barreled ahead, unwary of any sort of trap. If they were there, then he would kill them.

He could feel that they were close, almost right on top of it. He felt his ring throbbing, pulsating now. He didn't know what it meant, if it was Morrigan trying to tell him something.

How would she warn him if there was indeed a trap? How would she tell him if she was running out of time?

He was no mage; he had no idea how the ring would work. Maybe he was just hallucinating whatever message he thought he felt. Maybe she was dead already and this was just the ring's way of telling him.

And then he saw a flicker of light ahead, a narrow shaft of light that marked the entrance to some wider chamber. That was her, it had to be.

He slowed his pace some, checking for Darkspawn or other traps. He didn't see anything, but that didn't mean they weren't there. His Warden senses told him as much.

"Lance, wait!" Velanna called after him. "There are too many of them, hold on."

He turned, raised his hand to stop them.

"She's in there," he said, indicating the chamber. "I'm going in."

"Are you mad?" asked Velanna. "They'll rip you to shreds."

"I can't go yet," said Lance with a shrug. It made his wounds hurt, and he regretted having halted his attack. The adrenaline was wearing down and he was starting to feel the pressure of battling and wandering for two days straight.

"I've still got a job to do," he offered. And he grimaced. He couldn't even convince himself.

"Either way," said Fergus. "I want to get to the bottom of this. If running headlong into a trap is what it takes, then I say we run."

"Ditto," Oghren grunted. "It's time to do some more Grey Warden-ing."

Velanna sighed, frustrated. "Fine. Let's go. Just try not to die."

Lance nodded, turned on his heel and raised his sword to enter the chamber. The light was blindingly white, likely magical. He still hadn't pieced together exactly what was happening here, but he wasn't too sure it mattered to him.

He cautiously stepped through the narrow portal, and he gasped at what he saw on the other side, rendered speechless for a long minute.


	21. Chapter 21

Morrigan had been tied to what might be some sort of ritual totem. She wasn't an expert on the Dwarves, but she was rather certain that it had little to do with the squat creatures. Whatever it was, it made for a convenient anchor for her.

Her magic was still being suppressed, and what little mana she had left was spent giving signals to Lance through the ring. She was tied too tightly to free herself, and without magic there was little she could actually do to free herself.

She took solace in the fact that soon enough her captors would be dead.

The Darkspawn horde that had been sent to "handle" the Wardens returned, sans a few dozen of their original number. The Hurlock Disciple that seemed to lead the group was waiting for the others to return, arms crossed in irritation.

"The Wardens will not die so easily," said the Disciple. Florek nodded.

"I counted on that. Did your… men at least lead him here?"

The Disciple snarled at Florek, then glanced at Morrigan. "He needs no goading."

Florek nodded.

"Well then," he said. He turned to Morrigan, tapped her chin with his index finger. "Let's roll out the welcome mat."

He signaled for the Darkspawn to act, to take some predefined positions. Morrigan watched them, sure and confident that they would only succeed in killing themselves. She had seen Lance walk right into "hopeless" situations and leave with a grin. He'd killed Archdemons. There was absolutely nothing to keep him at bay.

And then she saw several of the Darkspawn bringing up a ballista.

"Oh, no," she whispered. They gargled and laughed, bringing it to bear on the narrow opening into the wide chamber. The Wardens had no chance.

She breathed out, closing her eyes in desperate thought. How could she warn him? How could she do anything to help?

She had to think, had to concentrate. She had to whatever she could to build up even the tiniest amount of mana to fight back. She sighed, resigned herself to concentrating harder than she ever had before, trying to bring up her magic, cast the simplest spell to help.

The Darkspawn began loading a massive bolt into the ballista, readying it to fire.

Morrigan grit her teeth, closing her eyes tightly.

A small spark flickered to life on the ballista, unnoticed by the Darkspawn loading it. The spark caught fire, making the Darkspawn manning it go into hysterics. Florek was not amused.

"Sneaky," he said. And then he sent his fist across her jaw, knocking her roughly against her bonds. "I'll have to remember to keep my eyes on you."

He cast another glyph of neutralization, making sure she was completely wiped out of mana.

She could see movement in the tunnel just off the chamber – Lance and his Wardens.

She felt both fear and elation. Lance was coming, and he would soon free her and together they would kill these Darkspawn and their masters. But he would have to fight what would no doubt be a terrible battle. Perhaps he would not be able to face these enemies alone, without her.

In an instant he was in the chamber, eyes narrowed against the blinding light of numerous magical rocks in large braziers hanging from the ceiling.

Lance cried out, angry and frustrated and otherwise not in the mood to deal with the Darkspawn now charging forwards.

He held his sword with both hands and swung with all his might, the star metal blade slicing neatly through mottled flesh and rusting armor. He was swinging like a mad man, cutting down all the Darkspawn that were willing to fight him.

He was notorious amongst the Darkspawn now, well known as a killer of their kind. A few of the weaker-willed Darkspawn shrank back from him, becoming easy targets for the other Wardens. Fergus was just behind him, guarding his brother with swings of his shield.

Lance bought himself the briefest respite, just long enough to search for Morrigan. He saw her, confirmed that she was indeed alive. And he allowed himself the smallest of smiles, as did she.

And then he was rushing for her, barreling through the few Hurlocks assembled to guard her. He cut into them, turned and battled the Darkspawn coming to stop him. He cut them to pieces, shouting in rage.

He turned for Morrigan, reaching to draw his belt knife and free her.

"Hurry," she said. "We must hurry. There is more to this scheme than even you could-"

"We have waited for this moment," said the Disciple. He stepped onto the raised dais where Morrigan was held, moving just in front of her, keeping himself between the Warden and his Witch.

"You again," said Lance. He looked over his shoulder, saw that the fight below had calmed, had become breathless anticipation of a battle between Lance and the Disciple.

"The master has demanded your death," said the Disciple. "I shall grant it."

"You can try," said Lance. And he didn't give the Disciple another chance. With the flat of his blade Lance knocked the Hurlock aside, stepping clear of the dais to keep Morrigan safe.

The chamber may have once been some great Dwarven meeting hall. It was just another tof the Dwarfs' lost Thaigs. It was crumbling, filled with shattered pillars and long, broken stone tables.

A few more pillars were broken as Lance sent the Disciple flying through one.

The Hurlock was tough, though, and he was up in an instant.

He shrieked, charged forward. He raised his curved, blackened sword and squealed in fury.

Lance met the blade, causing it to snap. Starfang ate through the rusty metal as easily as if it had been paper. The Disciple didn't miss a beat.

It used the broken blade to lash out, managing to scratch Lance's forearm. The Warden Commander shoved forward, knocked the Disciple backwards. He swept out the Darkspawn's feet, let it fall.

The Disciple kicked upwards, catching Lance's sword arm. He let Starfang go, hearing it clatter to the floor even as he reached to strangle this Darkspawn. The Disciple grabbed Lance's wrists, holding them fast.

They wrestled briefly, shouting aloud. The other Wardens hesitated. Fergus fought every instinct he had. More than anything, he wanted to save his brother. But the Darkspawn horde would only hold off for so long. If Fergus rushed to help his brother then the battle would just begin again.

Lance had to kill the Disciple. There was no other choice.

He couldn't get his fingers around the Disciple's throat, so he punched, hitting the Hurlock's stubby nose again and again. It didn't seem to do much more than piss him off.

The Disciple kicked up, hit Lance in the stomach with his knee. His dragonskin armor blunted the strike, though it still managed to give the Disciple leverage enough to turn the tables.

Lance was against the floor now, the Disciple snarling in his face. The Hurlock's forearm was against his throat, choking him. Lance struggled to think, to figure out some way of this. He started to feel dizzy, to lose focus.

He kneed the Darkspawn in the groin, again and again. It didn't do anything to stop him.

Lance reached out, struggling to find something – _anything _– to fight with. He found a piece of rubble, what was once a part of the pillar.

Lance struck the Darkspawn in the head, knocking him off of him. Lance was up, rock gripped with both hands, held over his head. He meant to smash the Darkspawn's head in. He didn't get the opportunity.

The Disciple slammed against him, lifting Lance off his feet. Before he realized what was happening, the Disciple was carrying Lance off, rushing at full speed.

There was an instant of flight.

Lance landed hard on one of the ancient stone tables, cracking it. He called out in pain.

The Darkspawn was standing over him, about to stomp his face in. Lance punched out first, hitting the Hurlock's knee, causing it to give out. The Disciple cried in agony.

Lance curled back, arching his body to grip the Hurlock's neck with his calves. He rotated, made it so that he sat on the Disciple's chest. Lance struck the Disciple in the head with his elbows, slamming again and again against the Darkspawn's face. He felt bone give way; the Darkspawn's cries become gurgles.

Then the Darkspawn sent his knee into Lance's back, rocketing him forward on his stomach. The Darkspawn rose behind him, cocking his fist back to strike Lance. The Warden rolled left, the Darkspawn's fist missing him and smashing the stone table.

Lance kicked back, knocking the Darkspawn off the table onto the floor. He turned, stood in preparation to stomp the Disciple into paste. The Hurlock reached up, grabbed Lance's ankles and pulled his legs out from under him.

Lance landed on the table once more, feeling something in his arm pop painfully. He tried to kick at the Hurlock, but the Disciple was already on the table, grabbing Lance around the neck and hitting him.

The Warden struggled again, searching for some sort of escape. He rocked his head forward, smashed his forehead against the Darkspawn's face. He struck him again, pushed the Disciple off of him.

The Darkspawn stumbled back; fell onto the floor holding his head. Lance dropped down to stand over him. He didn't give the Darkspawn another chance to fight, simply reached down and lifted him up. With little ceremony, Lance smashed the Disciple's head into the table, again and again, creating a small puddle of blood in the cracks and crevices left in the table's surface.

The Disciple slumped; fell to the side in a heap.

Lance stood shakily, hurting from a thousand new aches and pains. He kicked at the Disciple making sure that it was dead for good. The other Darkspawn shrank away from him, looking quite fearful. He didn't know if they could actually feel fear, but he liked it regardless.

He looked up at the dais where Morrigan was tied, stepped towards it, noticing that the limp he'd gotten some time ago was increased dramatically.

"Morrigan," said Lance, with a smile. He took a step towards her.

"Look out," she called. Lance turned around just in time to take an arcane bolt to the chest.

He hit the floor, cried out in pain, suddenly dizzy. He slid across the ground, stopping only when he hit the wall of the dais.

"Get them," Florek roared, ordering the Darkspawn. They hesitated.

Fergus, however, didn't. He charged forward, smashing his shield against the first Darkspawn he neared. And then he lashed out with his sword, stabbing and cutting left and right.

The Darkspawn shrieked, turned and engaged the Wardens.

Lance struggled to stand, his legs wobbling too much to support him.

"Now, Warden," said Florek. "Now I win."


	22. Chapter 22

Darkspawn were pouring out now, coming from whatever cracks and crevices they could fit in. There were tons of them, countless Darkspawn. They threatened to overwhelm the Warden, to become too many to fight at once.

It was just another day.

Lance watched for a moment; saw his comrades killing the Darkspawn, fully holding their own against the horde. He expected as much. These were simply the greatest Wardens he'd ever known.

He didn't have the luxury of sitting still, though. Florek was already summoning up another magical strike.

He rolled, as best he could, and felt heat wash over him. The spot where he'd been caught fire, the rock becoming scorched and blackened from the heat.

Lance struggled to stand, found that it was too hard. He settled for crawling.

Florek laughed behind him, reveling in having the great Warden Commander crawling on his hands and knees. He toyed with Lance.

A blast of ice landed in front of him, and another behind him to keep him pinned. Lance rolled forward, well out of the trap even as a blast of energy exploded behind him. He used his momentum to roll onto his feet, standing, however shakily.

He limped away, trying to get enough speed to escape. Florek laughed once more.

He sent a bolt under Lance's feet, tripping him up.

Lance fell, hard. He turned onto his back, groaning loudly. Florek stood over him, holding his hand up in preparation of another spell.

"Poor showing," said Florek. "Very poor."

Fergus was up on the dais now, having dodged through the horde of Darkspawn to get there. He had his belt knife in hand, and was hurrying to cut through Morrigan's bonds. He freed one hand, gave her the knife, and turned to defend from the rapidly approaching Darkspawn.

Morrigan sliced through the ropes holding her other hand, stepped free of the totem.

"Lance," she called, getting the attentions of both the Warden and the Bann.

Lance stared up, feeling the cold anticipation of death. He was dreading what would happen next, gulping loudly. Morrigan was standing at the top of the dais, triumphant. She looked at the Bann narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, no," Florek whispered. And then Morrigan spoke.

"Kill him."

Lance kicked Florek in the knee, giving him a limp to match. Morrigan had given him her orders, and Lance was not one to argue.

He was on Florek immediately, kicking away his staff. A mage without a staff was a significantly reduced threat.

And a mage going up against the Warden Commander of Ferelden was dead already.

Lance slammed the palm of his hand into Florek's nose, breaking it. He hit him again, and again. Lance ached a thousand times over. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep for a few centuries.

But he didn't yet have that luxury. Instead, he would have to kill Florek, settle for that.

Florek was a bloodied mess now, barely recognizable as a man. Lance hit him again, and again.

The Darkspawn were retreating once more, the Wardens' resistance proving to be too much. Morrigan had regained a considerable portion of her mana, now that Florek's glyphs were inactive. She was able to cast a considerable amount of magic, despite lacking a staff.

"You lose," Lance told Florek. The Bann lifted his head enough to spit blood.

"This is impossible," he said. "Where is she?"

Lance furrowed his brow, gripped Florek by the collar.

"Who? What are you talking about?" Lance jostled Florek, trying to keep him conscious. "Who are you working with?"

"Warden," Morrigan called from the dais. "It's Flemeth."

"Flemeth?" Lance asked Florek. "You've sided with Flemeth?"

"She promised…"

"What did she promise you?"

"She promised that you would fall…"

"Guess she lied."

"Not quite," said a cool voice. He recognized it instantly, from the rattle of age, to the confidence.

"Impossible," Lance whispered. "I killed you."

"No, Warden," Flemeth said. "You did not."

And he turned, trying to come up with the best attack he could. It wasn't nearly good enough. Flemeth used her magic to fling Lance away like she might an insect. He hit the ground and rolled a considerable distance.

Fergus looked down from the dais in disbelief. "Flemeth? _The_ Flemeth?"

"Indeed," said Morrigan. "My mother has returned, just as I suspected she might."

"Your _mother_?" asked Fergus, jaw dropping open. "Just how did you and my brother meet?"

"Go to him," said Morrigan. "Get him as far away from here as you can. This battle is mine."

Flemeth flicked her wrist, made Velanna and Oghren freeze in place before they could launch an attack. She strode across the chamber with ease, looking as though she was completely unfettered by any of the Wardens.

And she wasn't.

"I have waited long for this moment," said Flemeth. "I have waited for this chance to settle our score."

"What score?" Lance demanded. "What the hell is wrong with you people?"

"Do not be so dense, Commander," said Flemeth. "One betrayal deserves another, don't you think?"

"She means me, Warden," said Morrigan. "This score is ours."

"That's good," said Lance, grimacing at his leg. "I don't think I'm up for another fight just yet."

Morrigan grimaced. And then she gave him her self-sure smirk.

"I suggest you heal quickly, Warden," she said. "For when I finish with Flemeth, I will have my way with _you_."

Lance let out a wry chuckle. It was confident of Morrigan. Confidence he didn't feel right now. She knew just as well as he that there was no beating Flemeth, not for these mere mortals. The force fields holding Velanna and Oghren would last for some time. They'd only be able to watch in horror and awe.

Fergus was suddenly beside Lance, helping him to stand.

"How's your leg?" he asked. Lance grunted.

"It's in bad shape. I think I can still walk, though."

"Good. Let's get you out of here."

"No," said Lance. "We can't."

He watched Morrigan on the dais, suddenly fearful. If she died…

There was no way she could compete with Flemeth. There was simply no way she could beat her mother. Lance had managed it before, though he'd had the niggling suspicion that she only let him win. This Flemeth, this true Flemeth, was impossibly strong.

"My darling daughter," Flemeth said. "How dare you turn against me."

"So sorry to disappoint, mother," said Morrigan. Flemeth sneered.

"Ah, yes. Your sarcasm. I had forgotten what a sharp tongue I had gifted you with. Perhaps it is time I ripped it from your mouth."

"Bring it on," said Morrigan, and her hand was up, firing arcs of lightning. Flemeth didn't react. The lightning rolled around her, missed her entirely.

"Oh, shit," Lance muttered. He had to do something.

Flemeth took a single, measured step towards the dais, where Morrigan stood becoming more and more nervous as the seconds went by.

She sent a fireball at Flemeth, then a wave of ice. Nothing. Angry, she looked over at the numerous dead Darkspawn bodies. She quickly summoned three skeletal minions from their bones. How much good it would do, Morrigan did not know.

She sent them at Flemeth, knowing they would utterly fail.

But to stack the deck in her favor, she cast a spell of Virulent Walking Bomb, setting one of her minions to explode just as soon as Flemeth killed it, dooming herself in the process.

Flemeth flicked her wrist once more, stopping the skeletons just before they reached her. Without so much as lifting a finger she made them fall to pieces. The skeleton charged with the walking bomb exploded, bone shrapnel and sticky, burning blood flying wildly.

Flemeth was unfazed. She strode through the brackish mist, coming ever closer to Morrigan in the process.

"I am ashamed of you, my daughter," she said. "I had hoped you would be able to put up a better fight than this."

Morrigan lashed out with a mental attack, one she hoped would distract her mother long enough for her to cast another spell. Flemeth blinked momentarily, the waking nightmares being cast by Morrigan flashing through her mind with nary so much as a stutter in her confidence.

"No," Flemeth said. "This won't do at all."

She raised her hand, and she wrenched Morrigan from the dais with staggering force. Morrigan landed at her mother's feet, staring up in wide-eyed horror.

"You were always the weakest of my daughters," said Flemeth. "You were always the frailest. I should have known you would put up only a pitiful fight."

Morrigan felt her heart sink, her blood run cold. And then she smiled.

"Why don't you try me on for size?" Lance asked. And then there was a deafening _whoosh_ as he cast a powerful Templar spell. Flemeth stumbled forward, a significant chunk of mana drained from her. Although that didn't mean she couldn't still rip the skin from Lance's bones with a whim.

Lance had his belt knife in his hand. It wasn't the best weapon to have, but it was better than nothing. He hoped that he could get the fight to step towards Starfang on the far end of the hall.

He didn't get the opportunity, though. Flemeth moved faster than he could track, grabbed him by the throat and squeezed.

He wasn't too sure what happened next. There was a flash of light, and then…


	23. Chapter 23

"How can I be expected to do _that_?" Morrigan asked. Flemeth huffed once, frowning down at the prone form on what had once been her bed. She looked at Morrigan.

"We have waited long for this," said Flemeth. "I told you what would be expected of you. Now is the time."

"But am I ready for this?" asked Morrigan, prodding the Warden's body. "Child birth?"

"'Tis not half as bad as _raising _the damn thing," said Flemeth. "And you will not need to worry about that."

"But of these two… Could you not have found someone less… scruffy?"

"What have I told you? It matters not _who_ 'tis half as much as what they offer."

"Indeed…"

Morrigan paced around the bed, looking at the body of the young Warden. His ruined armor and sword sat in one corner of the hut, and he lay sprawled across the narrow cot. She took note of his lean, athletic form, the sure signs of health around his eyes and teeth. All things considered, she could have chosen worse.

She glanced down at the Templar on the floor and decided that, no; Flemeth could not have done worse.

"I think I might be able to manage," said Morrigan. "Given time."

"You _will_ manage," said Flemeth. "You are free to enjoy it. So long as you complete your… mission."

"Oh… okay," said Morrigan, smirking to herself. There was something almost exceptional about this Warden, though she couldn't place a finger on it. She was drawn to him, perhaps. Certainly she had watched him in the Wilds, his skills, abilities.

He was talented, for sure. And she had indeed heard rumors of Grey Warden "prowess". Perhaps, with some effort, this would not be so bad after all.

"Very well," said Morrigan. "It shall be done."

"It will be done," said Flemeth. Morrigan nodded, giving a sigh of annoyance. She gestured towards the Warden, signaling for her mother to do the job of reviving him.


	24. Chapter 24

He lay in the still darkness, the cold foreboding of wherever he was. He'd woken here, and at first was afraid that he was blind before realizing that it was simply pitch dark. His entire body hurt, wracked with the pain of his combat with Flemeth and her Darkspawn servant.

He'd shattered his leg last year, fighting a second Archdemon. He had limped ever since, slight but noticeable all the same. Now, with what was likely a shattered knee cap, he might have some considerable trouble walking ever again.

Not to mention his busted arm, or what felt like several cracked ribs. He'd been hurt before, but this felt simply awful. To make matters worse, he was alone with no idea where he was or where Morrigan was or where his other friends were.

He was reminded of another time he was surrounded by such darkness, though that dark was of his own make. He had been Warden Commander of Ferelden for a few hours, the night before having just arrived at Amaranthine.

He was dressed in full plate, gifted to him by the Dwarven Legion of the Dead. He was walking heavily, scowling as he entered the inn. The noise of drinkers below annoyed him, and he wished only to be gone as soon as possible.

He glanced at Kristoff's room, wondered how long it would take for them to realize that the Warden was not coming back. Some time yet, he was willing to bet.

Keenan had given him his wedding ring, a token to give to his wife to prove his undying love. Keenan was dead now, body rotting in the deep of the silverite mine. Lucky him.

Lance was approaching the room where his wife was waiting. He rapped on the door, letting his presence be known.

"Sorry, pal," said a man on the other side of the door. "We're busy."

"I've need to speak with Nida."

"She's busy."

Lance rattled the door as noisily as he could. He heard noise on the other side.

The door burst open, a rather taciturn man answering him.

"What the-"

Lance shoved past, knocking him into the door as roughly as he could. He scanned the room, eyeing Nida on the bed, covers drawn up over herself. He frowned.

He reached into his belt pack, withdrawing the ring. He tossed it onto bed.

"Your husband," said Lance. "He's dead."

"Oh…" she said lamely, sitting up to grab the ring. She looked up at her gentleman "friend". "Please excuse us."

He glanced at Lance, likely balancing the wisdom of not arguing with a heavily armed and armored Warden. He turned and left, slamming the door as he did.

"How did it happen?" she asked. "Do you know?"

"A big Darkspawn with a bigger hammer," said Lance. "His final thoughts were of you."

"Oh."

"That it? Is that all you have to say?"

"I… don't know what else I can say."

"How 'bout explaining to me that you're not a slut."

She looked up at him, brow wrinkled in anger. She might have tried to protest, to insist upon her honor. But it was no use. She couldn't hide the truth.

"I got lonely," she offered lamely. "I did not know what else I could do."

"You could have stayed faithful," said Lance, turning to leave. "That might have been a good place to start."

"You do not understand," she said. "Sometimes love is not enough."

He stopped in his tracks, hand on the door handle. He didn't turn to speak to her, only stared at the swirling grains of the oak door.

"Don't you dare," he said. "Don't you dare say that. Love is everything. Love is all you have."

Before leaving Lance looked over his shoulder at her, scowling.

"Now you have nothing."

Now he had nothing.

Now he was lying on his back, in the dark, trying not to let his vision go.

"This is sodding fantastic," he said, voice echoing in the dark.

"Warden!"

"Morrigan!" Lance declared, sitting up. Pain shot up his leg, and he cried out. "Maker's Fury!"

He heard movement in the dark, someone crawling towards him. He felt a hand reaching up his trouser leg, searching for him. There was a tug at his leggings, and he reached down to take her hand, guide her to him.

She touched his chest, reaching up to feel for his face, so that she could talk to him.

"Oh, I feared that I had lost you," said Morrigan. Lance reached out to touch her, so that he could be sure he was talking right to her. He grabbed her side, pulled on her.

"Are you okay? Did they hurt you? I promise that I'll make them pay."

"I am fine," said Morrigan. "My injuries are nothing time will not heal. How are yours?"

"I'm in pain," said Lance. Morrigan took a sharp breath.

"I can try," said Morrigan. "As I once told you, I am no healer."

"Do what you can," said Lance. "Then I'll go talk to a real mage."

"Oh, you had best watch your words," said Morrigan. "I might find certain _other_ ways to amuse myself now."

"Just try it," said Lance. There was a sudden flash of dark light, illuminating the room fully. Lance flinched, eyes watering.

"Sorry," Morrigan said. "I need the light to see by."

"It's okay. Do what you have to."

He opened his eyes a crack, let them adjust to the light of the purple flame boiling in her hand.

"Your leg?"

"Yes."

"The bad one?"

"Yes."

"This will hurt you."

"Do it."

She raised her free hand over his knee, hovering there for only a moment. And then a bulb of light appeared, sparks passing from her hand to his knee. There was a loud crack as the bone magically reset itself.

Lance called out in pain, slamming his fist against the cold stone floor. Morrigan hesitated before continuing.

"I can stop now, if you would prefer."

"No," said Lance, voice rattling from his pain. "No, I gotta be in fighting shape."

"Okay. Bite on this."

She handed him her leather belt, folded over. He wedged it between his teeth, bit down on it. Morrigan held his leg fast.

"I cannot have you moving while I operate," said Morrigan. "I will have to sit on it."

"Will it hurt?" he mumbled.

"Very much."

"Do it."

She moved herself to sit on his leg, holding it down so that he wouldn't squirm much. Sharp pain – like flaming knives – shot through him. He groaned into the leather belt, biting down hard enough to break through it.

She put her hand to his knee, and worked her magic. He felt his world go dizzy, the entire room shaking around him, trying to fall out from beneath him. He arched his back in pain, grabbing Morrigan by the hem of her robe and twisting it enough to cause a tear.

She finished shortly, though to him it felt like years.

He lay there, gasping, coughing.

"And the arm?" asked Morrigan, a slight but noticeable shake in her voice now.

"Yes."

She moved to walk on her knees, inching towards him. She reached out with her free hand, holding the flame up to illuminate her work.

"This will hurt, too," said Morrigan.

"Do it."

Her magic worked again, sending electric, burning pain through him. He cried out, muffled by the leather. She held him tightly, tighter now that his strength was sapped by pain.

She finished, set his arm down gently.

"My chest," said Lance. "I was stabbed a few times. Got a few busted ribs."

"Okay," said Morrigan again. She moved to sit on him once more, to hold him down. She didn't warn him of the pain. He already knew that it would more than he could imagine.

She sidled up to sit astride him, hands on his chest.

"You know," he said. "I like seeing you like this."

She didn't laugh, could tell that his humor was far too forced to be funny.

The pain made him pass out briefly. More pain woke him back up. He was twisting and screaming, and Morrigan found it difficult to keep hold of him.

She finished finally, and his breath was coming in gasps, shaking and pitiful.

"There," she said, casting her spell to give them light once more. Lance thought he could see tears in her eyes, though he could not be sure. "I am finished. You are healed."

"Thank you," said Lance. "Thank you, my love."

"No, my love, do not thank me," said Morrigan. "I would do this again, and again if needed."

She moved to sit beside him, to speak with him. He struggled to sit up, feeling himself weak from her ministrations. He was coughing; a brief side-effect from the healing spells.

"Do you know how long we've been here?" he asked. Morrigan shook her head.

"I only awoke myself an hour ago. I was unaware that you too had been brought here."

"What does your mother plan with us?"

"_Flemeth_ might be willing to do anything. I could not guess what she desires now."

"She left me in my armor," said Lance. "We can't have been here long."

"I was afraid," said Morrigan. "I was afraid you were dead."

Lance looked over at her. He touched her cheek, pulling her in close to kiss. She had never been afraid before, not that he'd known.

"I can't go yet," Lance said. "I still have a job to do."

She kissed him then. He found himself smiling despite the ache he still felt.

"I love you, you know."

"I do."

"Now, let's figure out how to get out of here."

"This place is very deep in the ancient Dwarven kingdom. I think it will not be easy to find our way out."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," said Lance. He stood up, groaning aloud as he did.

"Stay still," Morrigan said. "You cannot fight. Not yet."

"Nope," said Lance. "But I don't get the luxury of sitting down."

He looked around, reaching out to take her hand. She stood beside him, helped him to walk along through the dark chamber, flame leading the way.

The room erupted into light suddenly, brilliant and blinding. Lance found himself stumbling backwards from it, arms crossed to protect his vision. Morrigan let out a sharp cry and was brought to her knees by some force unseen.

"Ah, yes," said Flemeth, silhouetted by the light. "Finally you wake."

"What do you want, Flemeth?" Lance demanded. "Why have you brought us here?"

"I wish an answer to a very important question," said Flemeth. "And I wished my daughter to be here for it."

"Ask away," said Lance, reaching down to pull Morrigan to her feet. She was gritting her teeth, reaching up to her head in pain.

"She is trying to confuse me, Warden," she said. "She is trying to keep me from resisting her."

"Listen to me now, Warden," said Flemeth. "I must know."

He grit his teeth, trying to fight his every urge to kill Flemeth, to beat her into unconsciousness.

"Where are the Old Gods?"


	25. Chapter 25

Velanna was running through the Deep Roads now, trying her damndest to find Lance and Morrigan. Flemeth had fled almost instantly, using some unnatural power to take them away.

She truly had no idea what she was doing, how she was going to find her way. Lance was wounded, badly, and he would likely die if she didn't get there in time. For all her skill as an apostate mage, Morrigan truly did not know jack shit about healing.

Whatever spells she could conjure would likely leave him ragged and hurting for weeks.

He needed proper Dalish magic.

Velanna gritted her teeth that Morrigan was not here to hear such a joke, to share barbs with.

"Where is he?" asked Fergus hurriedly. "Do you know?"

"Absolutely no idea," said Velanna. She looked at Oghren, tried to see if the Dwarf might have any clue as to where they should search.

"There's an old fortress around here," he said. "One of the first to fall to the Darkspawn."

"Could Flemeth have taken them there?" asked Fergus. Oghren shrugged.

"I suppose she could have. Don't know why these mages do half the crap they do."

"We must go there," Fergus demanded. "At once."

"Okay," said Velanna. "But you should head back to the surface. You aren't a Warden, it is too dangerous here."

"No," said Fergus. "I'm not leaving my brother."

"I did not think you would."

Velanna turned, gestured for Oghren to lead the way. The Dwarf charged forward, axe held high. They were storming through the Deep Roads. Velanna noted the curious lack of Darkspawn. She supposed that things must calm down in the Roads between Blights, that the Darkspawn were off doing other things.

She supposed it was possible that they were mounting an assault on Orzammar.

It was possible they were digging for the Old Gods even now. They heard the call of their masters constantly, driving them insane with purpose.

Flemeth's plans must have something to do with the Old Gods, or else she wouldn't have picked such a remote part of the Roads, such an ancient part.

But what could she possible be planning?

Last time Velanna had tangled with Flemeth the old woman had become part of the Archdemon. She'd not relished the opportunity to fight a Blight on its home turf. Now she wanted nothing more than to kill the woman.

Her friends were counting on her now, needed her.

"Faster," Velanna demanded from Oghren. "Faster!"


	26. Chapter 26

"What?"

Flemeth looked annoyed. She increased whatever magic she was using against Morrigan, increasing the girl's agony.

"The Old Gods," she said. "Where are they?"

Lance scowled at her. Morrigan leaned heavily against him so that he was basically holding her up. She wavered, groaned in agony.

"Out…" she moaned. "Out of my mind…"

"What are you doing to her?" Lance demanded. He might have fought now, if he thought he had half a chance at it. "Stop it!"

"Tell me where the Old Gods are. There are only two."

"What? Why the hell would I know? Let her go!"

"Every Warden Commander is informed of the location of the Old Gods," Flemeth explained. "You must have been given their locations."

Lance gaped. He had no idea that the Old Gods could be found, or that the Wardens knew where they were. Was it true? Was Flemeth lying to him? Perhaps she was just trying to torture him more?

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Lance. Morrigan cried out, taking considerable effort not to scream aloud. "Please! Let her go."

"It took me many years to find Urthemiel," said Flemeth. "I have planned for centuries my victory. You worthless _pup_ ruined it, and you will fix it."

"_You_?" Lance asked, his voice coming in a hoarse whisper. "_You did it?_"

And at once he was overcome with fury, aimed right at Flemeth.

"I'm going to kill you," he said. Flemeth smiled at him.

"No, you won't."

There was a wave of force, Morrigan swept off her feet and landing some distance away. Lance turned, tensed his muscles to run to her side, to save her again.

And then he got the incredible urge _not_ to.

"Tell me," said Flemeth. Lance worked his mouth uselessly. He couldn't speak, didn't know what he could say. He was overcome with the desire to move, to force his feet forward. He didn't know why, couldn't imagine what he would do.

And then his foot moved, against his will. His right foot scraped along the ground, kicking up a considerable amount of dust. His left foot moved, grinding across the stone floor.

"Oh, Maker, no," Lance whispered. His hand twitched, right arm jerking madly as it moved without his permission.

"Where are the Old Gods?"

Lance looked back at her, even as he was clumsily walking towards Morrigan's writhing form not ten feet away now.

"What are you doing? I don't know where they are."

"Where are they?"

Lance felt his arm jerk again, rise in front of him, fingers stretching out, reaching for Morrigan. He was overcome with desire, seething, burning desire. The desire to kill.

"No!" Lance screamed, unable to keep himself from approaching Morrigan. She was groaning, scratching at her scalp as she was wracked with Flemeth's mental assault.

"Where, Warden? Where?"

"I don't know! Please, I'm telling you the truth."

He was looming over Morrigan now, muscles in painful spasm. He was shouting, fighting with every ounce of his ability to keep himself from getting any closer to her.

His Templar powers were failing him, the mental discipline falling through now. He was incapable of resisting. He simply couldn't stop himself.

"Morrigan, run!" he shouted. "Please, Morrigan, run!"

"This can end, Warden. Just tell me what I need to know."

"Stop it!" he shouted, hands forcing themselves to Morrigan's throat. "Stop it! I don't know anything, I swear!"

He gripped her throat, fought, eyes filling with tears now. He squeezed against his will, and Morrigan snapped to, eyes wide, hands pulling at his wrists.

"Morrigan, I'm so sorry," he whimpered. "Please! Let her go! It's me you want!"

His left hand released her. His entire shoulder cramped with painful exertion as his arm cocked back, fingers balling into a fist. Morrigan clawed at him, kicking, searching for an escape.

"Stop! I don't know where they are, I swear I don't. Let her go! She's your _daughter_ for pity's sake!"

There was a sudden flash in his mind, and he was falling. He landed on the floor near Morrigan, limp.

She was coughing and gasping and gagging, clutching her throat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. She didn't say anything. Instead she struggled to her feet.

"Mother," she rasped. And then she was on the floor once more, Flemeth suddenly over them both, hand in a fist.

"I believe you, Warden," said Flemeth. "For what it's worth."

He reached out for Morrigan, fighting the ache and fatigue that had overcome him. He grabbed her boot, settled for it.

"He is right, though," said Flemeth. "You _are_ my daughter. My weak, pitiful daughter."

And then she was reaching down. "I should punish you for your insolence."

And she held Morrigan up by the collar of her robe. "I should punish your weakness."

Lance felt the sting in her words as keenly as Morrigan must. Morrigan prided her strength, her capability above all else. Flemeth was breaking her on the inside, more than she already had.

"I should have known you weren't strong enough for your appointed task," said Flemeth. "I should have known better than to send the _weakest_ of all my hundreds of daughters."

She struck Morrigan down, kicking her once when she hit the floor.

"Did he change you, I wonder? Did he say something to turn your heart against me?"

She squatted down to speak to Morrigan.

"What, I must know, did he say? Did he make promises, did he whisper sweet nothings?"

Morrigan didn't speak for a long moment. Then, almost too light to hear, she whispered, "I love him."

"Bah, love. What do you know of it, girl? What do you know of it that I do not?"

Morrigan didn't answer her mother. So Flemeth answered her own question.

"Love is rotten. Love is a lie. Love is weakness of the soul. And Love is ultimately worth nothing. Least of all _your_ love."

Morrigan twitched, curled into a ball. Lance couldn't move. He wanted so badly to kill Flemeth, to break her in half. He wanted to avenge every single time she had wronged Morrigan. He wanted to kill her for being a maleficar and a snake. He wanted to kill her for saving his life. He wanted to kill her for hurting him.

Mostly, he just wanted to shut her up.

"He lied, you know," she whispered into Morrigan's ear. "He doesn't love you. How could he? You betrayed him, and he will always remember it. He will never forget it. He knows you now. He knows that you and I aren't so dissimilar. He knows that you will hurt him again, and he hates you for it."

Morrigan might have been sobbing. From where he lay, Lance couldn't tell. He was sure that she was close.

"When did he last touch you? Because it disgusted him. He cannot even look upon you without feeling utter revulsion. Towards you and towards himself for staying beside you."

Lance made a fist, straining himself to do even that much.

"Soon enough he will leave, for a woman that he finds worthy of his attention. You will have nothing, save the broken heart and the sad tales."

She grinned down at her daughter. And then sneered.

"Look at you. You disgust me. This man is good and noble, his heart is pure, and you come along and make such a sodding _mess_ of it. You ruined his life, shattered his destiny. You bring nothing but pain and suffering wherever you go. You are not human, Morrigan – humans feel shame and remorse for having hurt another. You are a dog, less than that even; dogs have uses.

"You are a beast, an animal no better than the creatures you mimicked in the Wilds. You should have stayed there, to save the world the trouble of your existence. I should kill you, you know, like any responsible _owner_ would when their dog has hurt so many. It is the only fair thing to do."

Then her tone softened, and she even smiled warmly down at Morrigan.

"But I cannot. You are my daughter, and I care for you just the same. Please, Morrigan, leave this man. Come home to me. Come back to the Wilds. We can forget this ever happened."

"You forgive me?" Morrigan asked, voice shaking. Lance couldn't believe it.

"Yes, my daughter, I forgive you. Just return home with me."

"'Twill be as it was?"

"Yes."

There was a pause. Lance felt his heart sink. And then he was overcome with joy to hear her speak.

"If 'tis all the same to you, mother, sod off."

"That's my girl!" Lance said.

Flemeth huffed and stood. "That's what I get for allowing you freedom. Oh, well."

She stepped away from Morrigan. "You do not have a choice. If this Warden cannot help me, then I will attract a Warden who can. And you, Morrigan, shall fulfill the destiny I birthed you for."

"The baby," said Lance. "The Old God? That's what this is all about?"

Morrigan grabbed the leg of his trousers, clutching him tightly.

"Yes, Warden, the child is the goal."

"Why? What did you hope to gain?"

Flemeth looked back at him, scowling as though she couldn't believe his ignorance.

"Everything," she said. "Everything. The child was to be the key – will be the key – to everything. The past, present, future, the countless destinies of the universe, all will belong to me through that child."

"And you plan on using Morrigan to get another one?"

"Yes, of course. She is my daughter. What good is she if I cannot use her?"

Lance stared at her for a minute. Then he laughed. And laughed, body shaking with the laughter, ribs aching from it.

"What is so funny?"

"She's a Grey Warden, you stupid bitch, she _can't_ get pregnant!"

Flemeth's eyes widened and Lance felt the sheer pride of having outwitted the master of illusions and games. The old Witch stared in disbelief, her planning, all her mental calculations, all of it amounting to somewhere between jack and shit.

"_What?_" Flemeth demanded. Lance only nodded, smiling.

"Yep. Trust me, it would've come up by now if she could," said Lance. And then his grin became a sneer. "You lose."

"No," said Flemeth. "I don't."

She snapped her fingers, summoning up great, blinding light to illuminate the cavern fully. Lance couldn't see, not yet. He struggled for a long time to adjust to the great white. And then he saw what she meant for him to see.

They were surrounded on all sides. There had to be dozens – no hundreds, even thousands – of eggs. Eggs he had only seen in one other place.

The Mother's lair.

"I think I will allow them to eat you," said Flemeth. "Then, I will have them destroy your Keep. Eventually the Wardens will send someone, and he will know where the Old Gods are. And then I will wait again."

"One problem with your plan," said Lance. "At least that I can see."

The eggs began to twitch, move, at Flemeth's behest. One of them peeled open, revealing the bulbous childer grub.

"What would that be, Warden?"

"Me."

Lance stood up then, rejuvenated by Morrigan's magic. Flemeth smiled, welcoming this challenge.

"Good. Let us see how long you can last," she took several large steps backwards, into the nest of eggs. More started to twitch, until the entire vast cavern was a mess of movement and sickening crunching.

Lance turned to the now exposed grub, stomped it into paste.

More eggs were opening now.

He reached down, helped Morrigan to stand. She was bruised on her cheek, where Flemeth had struck her.

"I need you," he whispered to her. "Don't believe a word she says; I love you. And we're getting out of here."

"Do not worry, my love," said Morrigan. "I can fight."

Lance looked around at the emerging grubs.

"That's good," he said. "Because we don't have a choice."


	27. Chapter 27

Velanna turned the corner, following the sounds and light. She could hear screeching monsters; see the flash and glow of magic. Lance and Morrigan were close and Velanna, Fergus and Oghren were on the way.

She slammed her shoulder against a half-opened, rusted chamber door. She was immediately assailed by heat and flame.

She shouted at it, taken by surprise. Quickly she conjured her own magic, cooling herself and the others. Fergus and Oghren smashed against the door, forcing it open with a deafening groan.

The chamber on the other side was alight with flame, smoke rising up to the high ceiling, rapidly filling the room. Velanna kept her head low, already feeling the pressure of smoke on her lungs. She looked around, trying to find her companions.

Lance and Morrigan were hobbling towards the open door, towards their fellow Wardens. The chamber around them was on fire, burning. Velanna struggled to see. And then she realized the room was full of eggs.

Childer Eggs.

There must have been thousands of them, possibly hundreds of thousands. Some were stirring, already regurgitating their grubs, disgusting things. They burned, screeching and dying away.

Morrigan was leaning heavily on Lance, an arm around his shoulder as he supported her. He was unarmed, struggling to kick back a few grubs that were unburned. Morrigan raised her hand, gritting her teeth and struggling to summon up another wave of fire to burn the eggs and grubs.

"Over here!" Fergus called, inching into the chamber despite the great heat. Sweat was already beading on his neck.

Lance saw them and his eyes lit up.

"Come on, Morrigan," he said. "This way."

She was slumped over, holding onto him to remain standing. Casting her magic had drained her, and whatever battle they had endured had done quite a number on them both. Lance's limp was more exaggerated now, his leg having been broken and healed _again_.

Despite it, he scooped Morrigan up and carried her across to where the others were.

"They're right behind us," he said. "We have to go."

Velanna craned her neck to see behind them, and gasped inwardly when she saw that there were still dozens of Childer grubs wriggling towards them.

"Run!" she shouted, pushing at Fergus. "Go! Get out!"

Lance was carrying Morrigan, moving as fast as he could despite his busted leg. He was bruised and bloodied, but no less determined. Oghren and Velanna brought up the rear, guarding against the Children.

Velanna used her own magic to make the fire grow in a surge, pulling it out from the chamber to blanket the tunnel behind them.

They were a long ways away from the entrance, and would require a good deal of walking to get there. Grubs screeched behind them, burning and curling up.

Fergus was retracing their steps as best he could. He was neither a Warden nor an adventurer and so he had difficulty finding his way through the dark, twisted tunnels. Lance was far more experienced in such things and could tell which way to go from his familiarity from the Deep Roads.

Morrigan was moaning in pain, curling against him and shielding her ears, eyes clenched shut. He held her tightly, trying to keep his own panic to a minimum.

It was a strange sight to Velanna, to see Morrigan cowering like a child, and to see Lance visibly frightened. She had seen many strange things in her time with the Wardens, especially where Lance and Morrigan were concerned, but this was by far the strangest.

She was very fearful now, more so than she had ever been.

Lance stumbled, letting out a small yelp of pain as his bad leg was twisted roughly. He caught himself landing against the wall with his shoulder. He steadied himself, tried to stand without dropping Morrigan.

The stone wall next to him burst apart, spraying shards of stone and twisted metal across the narrow hall. Lance dove to the side, shielding Morrigan from the rock. Something leapt from the rubble, grappled with Lance.

They rolled together, slamming harshly against the opposite wall.

A Childer Adult, with its sharp, spindly arms. It scrabbled to slice Lance up, to kill him and devour him. Lance was unarmed, putting him at a great disadvantage. He threw a punch, caught the Childer Adult alongside its bowed head.

He kicked, keeping it at bay.

"Over here!" Oghren called, rushing up with his axe. He hefted it with two hands, lifted it over his head. Lance kicked the Darkspawn again, forcing it upwards. Oghren drove his axe into its back, breaking through the armored carapace to slice into its fleshy hide.

It squealed in pain and fury. But it didn't die.

Lance pushed it away with his legs, kicking it aside. Oghren hit it again, and again. He hacked it until it was nothing more than pieces. Pieces that still twitched and struggled to move.

"We're in trouble," said Lance, picking Morrigan up once more. He was scratched up, but no worse for wear. "We have to move, before they overwhelm us."

Fergus nodded, lifting his shield to protect their front. He charged down the tunnel, trying to remember the route back to the Deep Roads proper. There they could navigate their way to any number of exits, or even to Orzammar itself.

That wouldn't matter a whole lot if they couldn't get out alive.

They could hear the telltale rumble of stone and see the dust from eons of neglect fall to the ground. There were more of the Children out there.

"Lance," Velanna said, holding up his sword. "Here."

She sheathed it for him, allowing him to keep hold of Morrigan.

"Thanks," he said.

They tried to move at a brisk pace, though Lance struggled a bit with his bum leg. They were close to the main Deep Roads nexus, the honeycomb of underground highways and Roads where they could shake any pursuer.

Behind them, a wall burst, releasing another Adult Childer. It scanned the dark with its clouded eyes, tried to find its prey.

Velanna didn't give it the chance. She fired off a bolt of lightning, knocking it backwards, acrid smoke rising from its shell. It was still alive, though stunned.

Velanna hit it with another bolt and turned to catch up to the group. The entire tunnel was shaking now, the muffled shrieks of the Children signaling to them where the creatures were burrowing through. Fergus gave a shout as one dropped down in front of him.

He barreled into it with his shield, knocking it over. Fergus was a quick study. He hit it again with his shield, pressing it down into the ground to keep it from rising. He stabbed at it, again and again. Dark, brackish blood spurted across his shield, and he kept his head low to protect himself.

The creature let out a warbling cry, a death rattle.

"Go," Fergus called, voice taut with fear. Lance was carrying Morrigan still, ducking under the narrow hole the Darkspawn had emerged from.

He thundered on ahead, more eager than any of the others to find safety and shelter and a place to tend to Morrigan.

The wall next to him began to crack. He dodged away, putting his shoulder to the opposite wall and storming forward. Oghren jogged up, swung his axe at the crack just as it burst opened, catching the Childer off guard and knocking it back to the ground.

He slashed at it again and again, chopping it up pretty well.

Velanna risked a glance behind her; saw the swirling dark shapes of the Children behind them. She ran faster.

Her experience with the Children told her one thing: run. She hated them, was disgusted by them. They were deadly abominations, unnatural even to the Darkspawn. If Flemeth was breeding them…

Shimmering, gold light shone in a single beam in the tunnel up ahead. The Deep Roads.

She could hear the thundering cracks of stone walls behind her, the shrieks and calls of the Children. She risked a look back, aimed her fist and fired a mass of stone to clear the tunnel behind them and buy them some time.

Lance was already stumbling into the underground highway, breathing heavily. He adjusted his hold on Morrigan, deciding that safety was more important than her comfort and threw her over his shoulder.

He was still hobbling, his limp indicating far worse damage than Velanna had originally expected, but he was making good time.

Velanna burst out of the tunnel at the rear of the group. She aimed her staff behind her and fired off lightning bolts wildly. She heard a few screams as her attacks connected.

They ran headlong down the Deep Roads, trying to find the signs left by Dwarven patrols, perhaps even luck into the Legion of the Dead.

The Children screaming behind them spurred them on.


	28. Chapter 28

Morrigan was rubbing her eyes, trying to clear her head of the watery daze that had taken her. She wasn't immediately sure where she was until she reached out and touched the polished nightstand next to her and Lance's bed. She ran her fingers along it, felt the grain of the wood as she had dozens of times before.

She sat up, swinging her legs drunkenly out to the side of the bed, trying to gather her senses once more.

"Good," she heard Velanna say. "You're awake."

Morrigan tried to turn to see the woman, but a sharp pain echoing through her head told her not to.

"What happened?" she managed. Velanna clucked her tongue.

"Before or after you passed out? Either way it's not a terribly eventful story. We found you and Lance and a screaming horde of Children."

"Children?"

"Yes. Darkspawn, not babies."

"Oh."

"I was actually hoping you could tell me what happened," said Velanna. "You were unconscious and Lance is seriously mangled."

Morrigan looked around the room, her wits coming back to her as the pain in her head ebbed away. She looked at the bed behind her, saw that Lance was sleeping, what she could see of his body covered in bandages.

"It was difficult work," said Velanna approaching the bed. "It took both Anders and myself hours to heal the worst of it, but even then…"

"Is he sleeping?"

"We lost him to the pain. There wasn't much we could do for it."

"I see."

"He'll recover though, have no worries. He's tough."

"I know."

"But what about you? Are you okay?"

Morrigan glared at her. She struggled to stand, reached out to steady herself.

"I am fine. I am better than new."

She stumbled, lurched forward. Velanna caught her, eased her back onto to the bed.

"You shouldn't be standing so soon," said Velanna. "Whatever Flemeth did, she really did it. Take some time to recover. We can-"

"No. I will not sit idly by. This is _my_ fight."

Velanna sighed. There was truly no point in arguing with her, for any reason. She threw up her hands in frustration and nodded.

"Okay. If you insist. Just know that I'm not responsible for any ill that befalls you."

Morrigan grunted at that.

"No, I could hardly hold a fool responsible for her actions."

Velanna rolled her eyes.

Morrigan frowned at the nightgown she had been dressed in. Velanna had taken care to wash the blood and grime off of her, and dress her as feebly as possible.

"My clothes," said Morrigan. "Fetch them."

Velanna hesitated a second, a rebuttal rising to her throat. She kept silent, however, and simply turned to a large standing wardrobe to find Morrigan something proper to wear.

"What are you going to do?" Velanna asked. Morrigan snorted as though the answer should be obvious.

"I am going to kill my mother. Again."

"Didn't we do it already? And Lance once before that?"

"As I am sure has happened many times before. No, I had hoped that killing her while she was… merged with the Archdemon would solve the problem, but I see now that I was mistaken. Flemeth's power is immeasurable indeed."

"So that's it?" Velanna asked, returning with Morrigan's robes. "Just go out there and try to kill her?"

"Not 'try'. I will kill her as many times as are necessary. I am not defenseless."

"Certainly not," Velanna said. She looked over at where Lance lay asleep. "But what about him? He's in no shape to go anywhere."

"Then he will have to stay and wait. Let his wounds heal. Let him rest."

"Oh… you know how he gets when you leave."

"I know. But I think I know how to get around that."

Lance groaned, the sounds of voices so near him stirring him from his sleep. He mumbled something incoherent, then sat up.

"Maker's flaming ass…" he whispered, cradling his aching head. He was seeing in foggy double-vision, the stress of several rounds of magical healing catching up to him. He still had a lot of healing to do the good old fashioned way. But at least he wasn't on his deathbed. Not yet, anyways.

"Ah. He wakes."

"Gods damn right he's awake," said Lance. "And feeling like he got six shades of crap beaten out of him."

"That's not a poor assessment," said Velanna. "You were in terrible shape. How you managed to hold on so long I will never know."

"Adrenaline and sheer stubbornness."

"That sounds about right," said Morrigan. "True to form."

"Heh, yeah. I guess so."

Lance took a breath, trying to ease into being awake.

"Okay. What happened?"

"We made it back to the surface before you finally gave in to your wounds. We had a hell of a time dragging you both back to the Vigil. Now Morrigan is preparing to go on a one-woman crusade to kill Flemeth. Again."

"Bullshit she is," said Lance. "Gimme a minute to… get things together. When do we leave?"

"'We' are going nowhere. _I_ am going to slay Flemeth."

"Nope," said Lance. "We've played this game before. You know how it ends. You trick me into not coming with you, I follow, there's a big fight and everyone goes home a little worse than they came. Not this time. We made a pact. Together, forever. No matter what."

"'Tis not your battle," said Morrigan. "'Tis mine alone."

"Bullshit," Lance said again. "If it's your battle, then it's mine. No discussion."

He tried to stand, found that it was nearly impossible. He sat back down with a groan of effort.

"Just give me an hour or two," said Lance. Morrigan clucked her tongue, annoyed.

"You are not in any shape to battle Flemeth. I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself senselessly. Not in my presence."

"Flemeth's breeding an army of the Children," said Lance. "I can't let that happen."

"Then as Warden-Commander of Ferelden, command one of your Wardens to do it," said Morrigan. Lance narrowed his eyes at her.

"I command you to stay."

"No."

"Well, shit," he grumbled. "What exactly do you expect me to do?"

"I expect you to wait. To heal. And to welcome me back into your bed upon my triumphant return."

"I like that," said Lance. "And if anyone asks, we'll tell them that's what happened."

He tried once more to stand, but found that it was much more difficult. He groaned more loudly, grabbed at his arm to ebb away the pain. Morrigan sighed loudly.

"I can help you," said Morrigan. "Allow me to brew some of mother's extra special healthy tea."

Lance started to nod, fading a bit. Then he snapped to attention and glared at Morrigan.

"Oh, hell no. Morrigan, not again! You tricked me once, but I'm not drinking another damn bit of tea _you_ made."

"Get off it," said Morrigan. "That was _years_ ago. I would expect you to forget and forgive. I have."

"You forgave _what_? That I was stupid enough to drink it, no questions asked?"

"That you were being so obstinate."

"Obsti- Morrigan!"

"Okay, okay," Morrigan said with a small laugh, feeling much more like herself. "Do you mind, then, if I prepare tea of the regular variety?"

Lance sighed, feeling a twinge of pain in his ribs. "No. Go ahead."

"Fine then," she said, and cleared her throat. She turned for the door, finding that her legs were a bit stiff but altogether functional. She left the room, went off to the Vigil's nearest kitchen to brew some tea. Lance needed it.

He leaned back, laid his head down on the pillow. He wished instead that she was going to get ale. Though Morrigan was the last woman on the planet who would ever do _that_.

"Sweet Andraste, what is it with you broads?" asked Lance, putting one arm over his eyes to shield them from the stinging light.

"Don't lump me into the same category as her," said Velanna. "I would have just hit you again."

"Gee, thanks."

"Would it be so bad if you stayed?"

"Don't even ask me that."

"Morrigan is strong."

"I don't care."

"She's powerful."

"Don't care."

"She cares about you."

Lance looked up at her.

"I know. And I care about her. And I absolutely refuse to let her go alone. Not to fight Flemeth. Not without me."

"Do you think her so weak? Do you imagine that she cannot last a second on her own without you?"

"No," said Lance. "That's not it."

He sat up, though it pained him to do so. He rubbed at his chin, the stubble that had grown there in the last few days of adventure.

"I just… It's…" he sighed again. "I can't go without her. I won't. And if she's in danger then that's where I want to be. I will stand beside her, no matter what. No matter the odds."

"How very romantic," said Velanna, looking away suddenly. She pretended to stare out the window, at someone or something in the grounds below. "I know the feeling."

"Then you know that I can't leave her."

"I know. I was just maybe hoping…"

Lance didn't prod her for more. He leaned back against the headboard, watching Velanna quietly. He waited for Morrigan to return.

When she did he was instantly upright, ignoring the tightness of his chest. He wondered briefly how much of him was left that hadn't been magically re-grown or stitched together. Probably very little. He'd taken enough damage to kill him ten times over in the past three years, since he'd left home.

And Morrigan had been there to see him through the worst. There was no way she was going to fight without him. No way.

Morrigan carried with her a tray and a kettle and a pair of teacups. The set had belonged to the Howes, once upon a time. It was garish to Lance and he wanted it removed. Somehow he was too tired to bother with it.

Morrigan set the cup down on the nightstand beside him.

"Shall I play the good wife and pour you a cup?"

"And if you could get my slippers, that would be great."

"Shut up."

Lance reached with dumb hands, grabbed the cup and sipped from it.

"So I hope we've settled that whole 'killing Flemeth' thing," said Lance. Morrigan gave an exaggerated sigh and went to look out of the window.

"Yes, my dear Warden. 'Tis settled."

"Good. Because I'd hate for you to think we were still arguing."

"Would that be so bad? 'Tis so much sweeter to make up afterwards."

"I can't listen to this," said Velanna, and she turned for the door.

Lance laughed and finished the cup. He held it up high and said, "More please!"

Morrigan looked over her shoulder at Velanna, eyebrows raised. The Elf hesitated, hand gripping the door handle. She shook her head and went to grab the kettle from the desk. She poured Lance another cup, giving him a polite bow.

"I swear," she said. "It's been centuries and somehow we still end up serving you."

"Thank you," said Lance, taking another gulp.

"Careful not to burn yourself," Morrigan warned. He made a noise of understanding as he gulped it down, suddenly very thirsty.

He set the emptied cup aside, yawning and stretching. He felt a wave of lethargy wash over him, combined with the intense desire to just stay in bed for a while more.

And then it hit him.

"Morrigan!" he shouted, eyelids fluttering. She simply smiled down at him. "Oh, you are such a…"

And he fell back dead asleep.

Morrigan sighed loudly.

"You make it so easy," she said. To Velanna, "Now, help me prepare."


	29. Chapter 29

He was lost again, somewhere distant. He might have been drowning if he didn't know he was on dry land.

"It's too soon to wake up," he said. Morrigan was near him, and was playfully tugging at his ear.

"Wake up, dear Warden."

He chuckled lightly, reaching out to pull her to him. The sun was barely up, just peeking over the horizon now. No one else would be awake but them.

He opened his eyes, saw that she was looking down at him, propped up on her elbow to see him. He reached up, grabbed her and pulled her into a kiss. She returned it, quite receptive to his advances.

It was a good dream. But it was only a dream.

He knew it. He didn't really care.

It was times like these that he liked best; the good times. Even the illusion of good times. At least then he knew he wasn't at risk of fighting a dragon or a legion of monsters. It was a lot more like he was a human being again.

So he let himself be taken away by it, by the spectacle of it. By Morrigan.

He was dreaming, he knew. But it was a good dream.

He loved her. She loved him. Perhaps this dream was as real as any other moment they had spent together. Perhaps it was more memory than dream.

Yet he was suddenly overcome with fear, anxiety. He missed her. He needed her.

She was gone from him, going to her death. And he had to fight for everything he was worth, fight to save her. He was going to continue fighting, and he might never stop. But he would do it, if that was what it took to save her.

He didn't think of himself as a hero, despite the stories of his deeds. He didn't imagine that he was some person of greatness. All he had ever done was for her, to be with her. He'd kill a thousand Archdemons if it meant finding her again.

And though he loved the dream, loved her, loved being with her, he knew that he wasn't ready to dream yet.

He stirred, struggled to wake himself up, struggled to shrug off the dream. It hurt to, in many ways. He felt the stings of a dozen wounds he couldn't remember, and the terrible loss of happiness.

He woke, broke through the veil of his dreams.

"Where is she?" he managed to ask aloud. He reached out stupidly, knocking the teacup to the floor with a clatter. He waved his arms around, trying to regain his senses.

Velanna was beside him once more, grabbing his arm and stilling his restlessness.

"Calm down," she said. "You're okay."

"Where is she?" he managed again. Velanna pushed him back down onto the bed.

"She left."

He tried again to sit up, barely able to resist the woman. She didn't have to try very hard to push him back down.

"She said that if you woke up I should make you drink more."

"Don't…"

"I won't."

He groaned again, rubbed at his face. He was still tired, desperately so. He would have given anything to be able to shut his eyes just then. But he couldn't.

"I can't," he whispered. He struggled, past the pain and the fatigue. He sat up. Then he stood, legs wobbling. "I can't let her alone."

"I figured you would say that."

"Help me up."

She went to Lance's side, helped him to stand. He leaned against the wall, trying to shake loose the sleep and the fog that had started to descend on him.

"I need my sword. And my armor."

"She took it."

He sighed to himself.

"Then I need _a_ sword and _some_ armor."

"Okay. Will you be alright here?"

"I'm fine."

He wasn't too sure that he was, but he didn't have time to sit down and think about it. He had to go, right now.

Velanna left to fetch his items, and to rouse a few of the other Wardens to action. Lance was having trouble thinking. Where had Morrigan gone? How would she know to go there? How could he follow?

Well, at least he knew the last one. He still had the ring. Morrigan probably intended to keep track of him, make sure that he was still sleepy. He hoped she wouldn't catch wise to the fact that he intended to follow her and shut the ring off. He breathed slowly, feeling his head clear finally.

He grabbed a pitcher of water that had been sitting on his desk for some days. He drank from it, taking in great gulps of water, hoping to clear his system of that crazy witch's magic tea. She would have to answer for that. Eventually.

Right now he was a little more concerned with putting on his trousers. A feat made quite difficult by his pointed lack of balance.

He was feeling okay, though. And that was a start. He didn't hurt, not anymore. That meant he was good to go.

Velanna returned, carrying in her arms a chain hauberk, scale armor and a Longsword made from Red Steel. She set it on the bed, watching Lance put on his shirt with difficulty.

"Thanks," he said. He grabbed the chainmail, slipped it over his head. It was heavier than he remembered it being. He hoped that was because his dragonskin was so light and not because he was about to fall over. The scale was heavier, too. He fastened the sword belt around his waist, drawing the Longsword to test its balance.

It wasn't Starfang, not by any measure, but it would do.

"She _took_ my gear?"

"Yes."

He tried to imagine her dressed in his armor, carrying his sword.

"Hot," he muttered and stood straight. He wavered a bit but thought that he was in fighting shape.

"So now what?" Velanna asked. He shrugged.

"I find Morrigan. Then we come back."

"Do you think you're actually in any shape to fight Flemeth?"

"I don't know yet," Lance said. Velanna shook her head.

"Keep in mind that the last time you fought her you ended up with a broken skeleton."

"Yeah, I haven't forgotten," he said. "I don't suppose you know where Morrigan went?"

"To the Korcari Wilds," said Velanna. "She seemed pretty sure that Flemeth would be there, waiting."

"Flemeth has her army to cultivate," said Lance. "She's going to attack the Vigil with it, kill every Warden she can until Weisshaupt sends someone she can get to give up the Old Gods."

"Why?"

"Because she's responsible for the Blight. She's responsible for all of it," Lance said. Then he felt the cold, icy touch of realization. "Damn it! She told the Architect where Urthemiel was. She did it so he would start the Blight. She wants the Archdemon's soul, and she'll start another Blight to get it."

"How? Won't she need another daughter?"

"Maybe not. Maybe…" he trailed off. The blood drained from his face. He felt a chill. "She's going to use Morrigan, one way or another."

Lance looked at Velanna, eyes wide.

"We've got to go."

Velanna nodded, hefting her staff.

"I took the liberty of getting a few of our old friends involved."

"Which ones?" Lance asked, curious. He stepped to the door, opened it. Outside, waiting in the hall, stood Leliana, Nathaniel and Oghren.

"How do, Warden?" Oghren asked, axe balanced on his shoulder. Leliana had her bow in hand, and she greeted him with a smile.

"We're ready."

Lance grinned.


	30. Chapter 30

"It is fitting that our last battle should be here," said Flemeth. Morrigan cleared her throat, keeping her chin high as she approached.

"Mother. So good to see you once again."

"Don't toy with me," said Flemeth. "This is a game no longer."

"No. It never was."

"I see you have come alone. I suppose this means you are as foolhardy as ever."

"I prefer daring."

Flemeth snorted. "You will die alone."

Morrigan didn't reply. This was another attempt by Flemeth to confound her, to get her off guard. She wouldn't allow herself to be so weakened. She would fight until her last breath.

She wore Lance's armor, held his sword. Her staff was in her other hand. She was as prepared as she could be, given the circumstances.

They were in the Korcari Wilds again, at Flemeth's hut. Morrigan had left it behind three years ago. She had never intended to return. But here she was, and here was Flemeth.

Just the two of them, dueling to their final deaths. She wished Lance well, that he would manage without her.

For all her bravado, Morrigan knew she could not prevail against her mother. But she would try. She would make this last attempt, this last blow for her freedom.

She didn't wait any longer. Words were useless now.

Morrigan charged forward, crossing the distance between her in Flemeth in a flash. From her staff erupted a burst of energy, the ground around Flemeth exploding into motion, rock and dirt spraying all about her.

The old Maleficar raised her hands to shield herself, and Morrigan lost sight of her in the flurry. No matter. She slashed out with the sword, driving right for the old woman's heart.

The blade stopped short, however, and she felt herself being pushed back. Flemeth had indeed summoned a shield, and was now using her magic to force it outwards. Starfang sparked, created flashes of light as it battled to penetrate the magic.

Flemeth simply _pushed_.

Morrigan felt herself fly backwards, land roughly against a tree.

The armor padded the impact, however, and she was still quite capable of fighting.

She stood, aimed the staff again, and fired. Flemeth seemed to blur out of focus for an instant, then suddenly returned to clarity a few feet away from where she had once stood.

"How…" Morrigan gasped. There was much magic in the world that Flemeth had refused to show her, much that she could not begin to understand. Flemeth had saved it all for herself, making sure that she would always outmatch her daughters.

No matter.

Morrigan had a few tricks of her own.

She summoned up her magic; a single, mighty blow. She focused it into her arm, her sword arm. She rushed Flemeth, crying out in rage.

She aimed the sword right for her mother's gut, sent it shooting out towards her.

And then Flemeth was gone, and the sword swept out at bare air.

Flemeth was behind Morrigan now, and delivered an elbow to her back, knocking her to her knees.

She rolled, sent her staff up at Flemeth. The old woman dodged it nimbly, caught it, reversed it, and sent it back into Morrigan's stomach.

The force of it made Morrigan dizzy for an instant.

She coughed and sputtered, the wind knocked out of her.

Flemeth circled her once, stopped when she stood over Morrigan's head. She raised the staff, ready to spear her daughter.

And then Morrigan acted, raising her hands and summoning the staff back into her possession. Flemeth was momentarily surprised, just long enough for Morrigan to hit her with an arcane bolt, staggering her.

Morrigan rolled back onto her feet, swung the staff around and clubbed her mother on the chin. She followed with the sword, aiming for her mother's neck.

Flemeth was still too powerful.

She raised her arm to block with it, caught the sword.

And with that opening Flemeth hit Morrigan square in the jaw, rocketing her back towards the hut.

Morrigan tasted blood, ignored it. She stood, held her weapons high, ready to defend. But Flemeth was taking her time, almost as though she relished the hunt.

She stalked towards Morrigan, a shark-like grin on her face.

Morrigan took a single step back. She braced herself.

And then she summoned a wave of frigid air, creating a line of ice from her to her mother. Flemeth raised her arms. The wave of freezing energy was redirected, pushed back into the forest, freezing the trees solid.

She counterattacked, made flames erupt from her fingertips.

Morrigan dodged it, leaping to the side. The hut caught fire, erupted into a towering inferno.

There was some irony to it. Morrigan had often dreamt of doing the very same. But now was no time for girlish fantasies. Now was the time for action.

Morrigan spat a petrifying wave of energy at her mother, fully expecting the old bat to defeat it. And when she did Morrigan followed it up, using the old woman's momentary distraction against her.

For all of Flemeth's experience, all of her ability there were still things in this world a mystery even to her. Things that no mage would ever part with. Things that no Elf would ever part with.

Except to Morrigan. She was the exception.

Tree roots erupted out of the earth, a great many of them. They were the old, powerful roots of the Korcari Wilds, more ancient than even Flemeth.

They ensnared her, grappled her. They pulled her arms and legs taught. Morrigan smiled at her mother, and she drove the sword forward.

But her mother had one other trick up her sleeve.

She vanished from the roots, appearing in a blur behind Morrigan just as the sword slashed through the area where she had been moments before.

Flemeth slammed Morrigan's sword arm with her fist, knocking the blade aside.

Morrigan swung around with her staff, and Flemeth caught it. They wrestled for an instant, each trying to gain control over the other. They stalemated, each other's will too powerful to be broken.

Morrigan, however, had a trick of her own.

She rocked her head forward, connected squarely with Flemeth's nose. She heard something break.

Flemeth stumbled back, releasing the staff. Morrigan ripped it away, swung it around and connected it with her mother's head. She hit again, and again.

She twisted, brought the staff down on her mother, and then raised her hand. A roar of heat and fire erupted, covering her mother in flames. Morrigan recoiled, bringing the staff up to aim lightning.

Her mother was back on guard, though, and leapt to the side at just the right moment.

A disc of light appeared before her, and it shot after Morrigan.

She fell backwards, narrowly dodging it. She heard a tree fall somewhere behind her.

Flemeth was up, charging forward, lightning crackling from her hands.

Morrigan raised the staff, prepared to take her charge.

Flemeth hit her, right on the center of the staff. It cracked; the wood straining against the force of the impact. Morrigan pushed back, found herself losing ground, mud churning up under her feet.

She felt herself losing, slowly but surely.

And then Flemeth's attention whipped around, turned elsewhere.

"Ah," she said. "You're friends have arrived."


	31. Chapter 31

The forest was alight with flash of magic. Lance had seen it before, but never had it terrified him to this extent.

He had his sword in hand, after having ridden his horse to exhaustion, and was charging towards Morrigan's battle with Flemeth.

Flemeth seemed unconcerned about the Grey Wardens moving in to fight her. She was stronger than they could ever hope to be, that was for sure, and she would have no problem destroying them and Morrigan with little effort. But what fun was that?

These Wardens deserved to suffer for all they had done to ruin her plans. Never had she been so foiled, and she didn't intent to let it pass without retribution. These sniveling brats hadn't even an ounce of the knowledge she did. They had no idea of the truth behind their miserable existences, not like she did.

They didn't deserve to live. They didn't deserve their miserably short lives.

More importantly _he_ didn't deserve a daughter of hers.

She nodded in the direction of the Wardens, and the ground around them exploded in chaos.

The Korcari Wilds had grown above the Deep Roads, above a massive catacomb of highways and tunnels. There was no measure of the secrets down there, the ancient treasures lost to the Darkspawn.

And there was no measure to the army Flemeth had bred in secret.

Lance lashed out with his sword, striking a Childer as it burst out from under his feet. He cut it, hacked it into shreds.

It screamed as it died, flailing and fighting.

He ducked under a claw swipe, met it with his sword, hacking the monster's arm off at the joint. It shrieked in pain and he sent the point of his sword into its mouth. It gagged, brackish blood pouring down its chin, and fell aside.

He could see flashes of energy already, the sure signs of battle. He shouted in rage at the Children, slammed his blade into the nearest one.

He was so close, now.

They were climbing up from the Deep Roads, the little bastards. Right up from under the ground. He had no idea if they could do that. He didn't really care.

The woods were thick with them now, him and the other Wardens fighting their way to where Morrigan fought Flemeth. He could feel that she didn't have long left. Her power was waning; she was struggling to keep up.

He was having a hell of a time fighting through the Children.

Nathaniel and Leliana fired arrows, killing the Children nearest him. They were clearing him a path, straight through the trees, through the Children, all the way to Morrigan.

He body slammed one of the insectival creatures aside, right into a thick tree. It howled, angry at having been denied its prey. He shoved his sword into its gut, twisting the blade. A single clawed talon hit his shoulder, slicing through the scale and chainmail. Blood pooled up through the wound.

He thrust his elbow into its swollen face, again and again.

With a shove, the creature was on the ground, thrashing angrily.

Lance kicked it away, turning and running harder for where Morrigan and Flemeth fought.

He entered the clearing where Flemeth's hut was, boots sloshing on the wet swamp ground.

"Morrigan!" he shouted. And that got Flemeth's attention.

She had been standing over Morrigan, holding her staff to Morrigan's throat. She wasn't quite choking her, not yet. She was merely keeping her daughter under control. Her eyes lit up when she saw Lance, and she stood up from Morrigan, letting her free.

"Warden," said Flemeth. "It's about time you showed up."

"I was held up," said Lance. And he charged Flemeth. It was a stupid opening move and he knew it. But he was just so damn mad at her, so furious. Even if it killed him he just wanted the chance to fight back, to show her how angry he could get.

She deflected him with a flick of her wrist, discarded him like so much trash.

He hit a nearby Tivinter statue, its rotting structure crumbling under his weight. He fell into a deep puddle of swamp water.

His body rang with pain.

He leapt up, held his sword with both hands. With a bound he was facing Flemeth again, swinging his sword. Oghren had shown Lance how to harness his rage, how to use it to deliver more powerful blows. It didn't quite work against Flemeth.

She used her staff do block, parry and defend. She whipped it around in her hands, swept out with it. He felt a hammer blow to his wrist, and he thought it might be broken. The sword dropped away.

Lance didn't hesitate. He reached behind him, found his Dar'Misu. He drew it, underhanded. He swiped at Flemeth, only managing to hit the air before her face. She hit him again with the staff, low in the gut. It cracked his armor.

She brought the staff down, cracking it against his head.

He fell to his knees, dizzy. She swept around again, connected it with his head again.

He thought he might have been knocked unconscious then. He wasn't exactly sure. He hit the ground and then the next thing he knew, she was standing over him, like she was going to spear him with the staff.

He rolled out of the way. The ground beside him exploded.

He rolled up, got to his feet. His sword was elsewhere, his wrist ached. He had no idea if he could keep it up, but he would have to try.

He struck at her, aiming right for her nose. She rolled her head aside, grabbed his elbow, twisted and struck his face with her own elbow. He stumbled back, whipped his fists to clear himself of Flemeth.

She dropped low, delivered a full-palm strike to his stomach. The scale armor shattered completely, pieces of armor spraying from his body. He fell back again, hit the ground.

"Maker," he whispered. His entire body was throbbing. For an old woman, Flemeth had some moves.

He got up again, a glutton for punishment.

She hit him again, and again. He felt the force of a dozen fists against him, pounding him. He tasted blood.

He tried to hit back.

Flemeth took her staff, sent it around, caught his arm under the elbow and wedged it between his arm and his neck, disabling him.

She had full control of him now. She could make him move whichever way she wanted. He couldn't fight back, and if she wanted to hurt him she only needed to twist the staff around a little more.

"I have longed for this day," said Flemeth. "The chance to once more have you by the throat."

"You'll never get a better shot," said Lance.

Flemeth grinned.

And then a mass of stone collided with her back, launching her up and over, at just the right angle for Lance to free himself. He rolled forward, came up on his feet.

Morrigan was beside him, suddenly.

Flemeth stood where she had landed. And she turned to face them, smiling.

"At last," she said. "This is what I've been waiting for."

And then they attacked.


	32. Chapter 32

He didn't hesitate another moment.

Lance charged her, connected his shoulder with her gut. He tried to take her down, get the advantage. If he and Morrigan could just overpower her then they'd have a shot.

Unfortunately Flemeth wasn't going for it.

Trying to move her felt like trying to shove a brick wall. She didn't budge.

Her knee connected with his sternum, and her elbow with his back. With ridiculous ease she grabbed him and flung him aside, turning to face her daughter.

Morrigan threw a punch, hit Flemeth across the jaw. Her mother snapped back, hitting her daughter in the throat, causing her to wheeze and choke, gasping for air.

She kicked her behind the knee, brought her down. With a smack Morrigan was on the ground.

Lance was up again, carrying a fallen tree branch. He swung it in a wide arc, trying to catch Flemeth's head. She reached up and grabbed it, shattering it in her hand.

Lance tossed aside the puny stick he was left with and moved in, deciding to handle her with conventional tactics. He threw a right hook, then a left.

He blocked both, kicked outwards, hit his stomach. He was on his back before he knew what had happened; rolling aside to avoid a stomp that he was sure would have taken his whole head.

Morrigan was up now, beside him.

They both went for Flemeth, hoping against hope to distract her long enough to get in some licks. She, of course, wasn't.

In an instant she hit Lance so hard in the shoulder he was nearly spun around. She reached out, pulled Morrigan in front of her as a shield. By the time Lance had recovered he was wracking his brain to figure out how to finish her.

Morrigan didn't hesitate at all.

She drew the Dar'Misu that had been discarded by Lance, shoved it into Flemeth's thigh. Flemeth's face twitched ever so slightly, the only sign of pain she gave. Morrigan ripped away.

Lance took that his opportunity, launching his elbow to strike. She blocked it, and he kicked her leg, trying to drop her. She kicked back, and he fell to a knee.

Morrigan was behind her, holding her belt so as to garrote her. Flemeth kicked behind her, buckling Morrigan.

She reached down, picked Lance up by his throat and threw him.

He was aware of passing over Morrigan. Though he wished he'd been a little more aware of the tree he was slamming into.

He rolled down its trunk, landing hard on a root.

He let out a loud groan, pain wracking him. And then he saw his sword, Starfang, sitting just nearby.

He grabbed it, turned to face Flemeth.

Morrigan rolled aside, picking up her staff as she did.

She came up near Lance, weapon in hand.

And then Flemeth was between them, facing their every attack, blocking and countering. She moved faster than was humanly possible. But Morrigan had made it painfully apparent that she was anything but human.

Lance slashed out, under Flemeth's arm. Her hand appeared to catch the blade, shove the hilt of the sword back into his gut. Morrigan failed to hit her mother with her staff, getting a black eye for her trouble.

Lance tried to hit her, distract her long enough to work his sword into her ribs.

It didn't work.

She caught his fist, squeezed until he thought his fist was going to break.

Her legs swept out, knocked him down again. He landed hard on his spine, coughing so hard he was sure he bruised a rib.

Morrigan tried to slam her staff into Flemeth's face, but the old witch caught it. Morrigan must have been counting on that because lightning streamed from the end of the staff, right into Flemeth's grinning mouth.

She didn't seem particularly fazed but that only worked in Lance's favor.

She was so concentrated on channeling the magic through her, away from her; she didn't see Lance hop to his knee, fist slamming into her back. She didn't flinch from the blow, as he expected.

He summoned his Templar magic, that willpower that made him so dangerous against mages.

A bolt of divine light struck Flemeth, hitting her hard enough to drop her to her knees. More importantly it gave them a precious second to strike at her, to halt her magic. She couldn't defend, not now, not in this instant.

Lance drove his sword into her, and she gasped sharply.

Blood ran down the blade – Flemeth's blood.

But just as quickly their moment was gone.

She grabbed the blade, pulled. Impossibly, she pulled the blade right through her body, hilt and all. Lance let it slip from between his fingers, stunned.

She stood, still holding Starfang by its blade, fingers bleeding now.

And she swung it around, hit him with the hilt. She turned, struck Morrigan with it. Then she discarded it.

"I expected more," she said. "I expected so much better from you. The famed Wardens, the Blight-Quellers."

"So sorry to disappoint, mother," said Morrigan, wiping blood from her lip. Lance stood, feeling pretty shaky. He wasn't sure how much more of a beating he could take before breaking entirely.

"Let's end this," she said.

And he felt wind whipping up, battering him. In an instant it reached a hurricane force. He risked a glance to his Wardens, saw that the Darkspawn had vanished and they stood in a pile of dead Children. They appeared to not be affected by the storm Flemeth was brewing.

Lance was glad for that.

And all at once the ground convulsed, nearly toppling him. He felt it pulsate beneath his feet, shudder and buck. It felt like the great earthquakes he'd read about in his boyhood adventure stories. And then the ground gave way beneath him.

They fell, he and Morrigan.

He was only passively aware that he landed on dirt, that the ground had fallen through and that there was still sunlight and cold air above.

He was trying to find Flemeth, to figure out what she had done.

He couldn't tell.

And then he saw her, standing right in front of him, smiling. She was bleeding from the chest, and nose. She had a few bruises and scratches, but she was smiling.

"I have lived many centuries," she said. "Many, many years. There is little in this world I do not know. And I shall teach it to you. It is only appropriate, is it not?"

And he saw that she was standing in front of some impossibly old part of the Deep Roads, so long lost to the Darkspawn he couldn't begin to imagine when it was first built.

"Figures, don't it?" he mumbled. "It always ends here, always."

Morrigan tried to laugh, concealing a pained moan.

"Yes, my love," she said. "Such a cruel irony."

Flemeth stopped smiling when she heard that.

"How sweet," she said. "You shall die in each other's arms, no doubt."

And she stepped back towards the great pillars of the Deep Roads, the ancient runes and the base of what must have been a great statue. The sunlight filtering into the chasm was dying now, making it hard for him to see Flemeth, to make her out from the shadows.

Then he realized that she _was_ the shadows. Flemeth the Shapeshifter, master of impossibly old magic, had one great trick up her sleeves.

Soon darkness swallowed all of her, and he could no longer see into the chasm, despite the light from above.

"Come, Warden," said Flemeth, voice echoing from a thousand places at once. "Finish this."

He stood, trying to find her.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Here."

And darkness assailed him, chasing away the light.


	33. Chapter 33

The darkness spread around him, suffocating him, slapping at him. It whipped him all around, threatened to claw into him.

He didn't know what it was, where Flemeth could have discovered this trick.

It felt like leaping into ice water. It felt like a thousand pin pricks.

He could feel an echo in his head, cloying, screaming. He heard his name, heard a shout.

He didn't know if it was real or not.

Right now it didn't much matter.

He felt himself brought to his knees, despite his struggling. Something pulled at him. He felt his body jerked roughly, as though he were being dragged backwards.

He brought his arms up to protect his face. He couldn't see anything. He was running on instinct now.

The entire chasm was pitch black now.

Lance was being buffeted on all sides, slammed and jostled. It wasn't painful, not exactly. It was forceful, insisting. Flemeth was toying with him.

She was trying to get a rise from him or just mess with his head. She was trying to break him down before going in for the kill.

He stood, as best he could. It felt like he was carrying a great weight with him, holding him down.

He started to walk forward, though he wasn't sure why. Maybe he thought he could break away from Flemeth and her shadow trick. Or maybe he was just trying to do whatever he could to get away.

Something struck his shoulder.

He felt with his hands, found stone. He'd managed to stumble his way to a pillar, right at the entrance to whatever Deep Roads tunnel or oddity Flemeth had brought them to.

Using his hands and arms to guide him he found the entrance, started to feel his way down. He hoped he wouldn't run into some Darkspawn. Deaf and blind like he was he would only manage to get himself killed.

"Warden!" he heard. He was about to shout back, tell the voice to shut up. Then he realized that it was Morrigan.

"Here," he shouted back. "Over here."

He reached out with his hands, hoping to feel her. She stumbled towards him, her own hands flailing.

He grabbed her, pulled her to him. He could barely see her as they neared one another.

"What is she?" he asked. Morrigan could only look up in awe.

"I do not know," she said. "I… cannot even begin to imagine."

"We have to get out of here," said Lance. And he pulled her with him, feeling along a wall he could not see. She was feeling along the opposite wall.

As they made their way along the constant, pressing weight of the darkness increased, making them feel heavier and heavier, making it hard to stand and harder to keep moving.

Without warning the wind whipped up, Morrigan's hair becoming loose and flying about her face from the wind.

They were unarmed, though Morrigan still wielded her magic. It wouldn't compare with Flemeth's, and that left them with little ability to fight.

Flemeth shoved them forward, made the stumble along the tunnel.

All at once the darkness retreated, leaving the pair in the low light of the Deep Roads that seemed to them to be like the sun now.

Lance was looking around, trying to spot Flemeth, to prepare for her next attack.

What he saw made him forget all about Flemeth.

They were in a wide cavern, one not naturally made. It had been dug by hand – but not carved out by the Dwarves.

A seething, pulsating mass waited at the very bottom of the chamber, creatures swarming and wriggling. Darkspawn. Thousands upon thousands of them.

"No," he muttered. They were in the heart of the horde, the cankerous mass that was the Blight. This was where they went, where they assembled, where they waited.

"Do you see it?" Flemeth asked him, suddenly behind him. "Do you see them?"

"What is this?" Lance asked.

"This is the Darkspawn. This is the great mass of these creatures, the bulk of the horde that will not relent in their search."

"They're digging," said Lance. "They're digging for the Old Gods."

"Yes," said Flemeth. "The last two remaining Gods, the last two Blights."

"Razikale and Lusacan, Mystery and Night," said Morrigan. Lance looked at her, nodded. She could still surprise him. He hoped that it was a good sign.

"Why are you showing us this?" asked Lance. Flemeth smiled politely.

"Because I want you to realize one thing," she said. "No matter what you do, no matter how hard you fight, you _will_ lose."

She stepped closer towards the edge, raised her arms out as if to lord over the whole horde.

"You have defeated one Blight," she said. "You have stopped _one_. And yet twice more shall the world shake under the feet of the Darkspawn. Twice more shall they bring death and destruction to the world above. Any victory you gain now will only be temporary."

"What do you care?"

"Give me the Old God," she said. "Think about it. You will have won _twice_ against the Darkspawn. You will have ensured the safety of generations yet to come."

"What would you do with it?" Lance asked her.

"That I cannot tell you."

"Then I guess you already know my answer."

"Unfortunate," said Flemeth. She turned to face him. "I will miss you, at first."

And something tore through him, sending a small spray of blood to land on Flemeth.

He was being stabbed, he realized, stabbed in the back. The blade point went right through him, poking out of his chest.

He felt his feet lifted off the ground, shoved aside like garbage.

With a thud he landed on the ground, slumped over his arm, barely able to comprehend what had happened to him.

A white robed figure stood over him, hood concealing his face.

"Assassin?" Lance asked. The hooded figure nodded.

Florek's assassin had finally struck. He reached down, removed the blade from Lance's back and kicked him over so that they could see one another clearly.

"Goodbye, Warden," said the assassin, Antivan accent thick. He raised the dagger to stab again, in the heart. It was a professional courtesy, Lance knew, the two killers meeting face to face. He was lucky he didn't just get the poison dart treatment.

He had the dagger raised, aimed right for the sweet spot.

And then a black blur slammed into him, rolled away. It was Morrigan, Lance realized. She had just saved him.

He couldn't feel his extremities. Had the dagger been poisoned? Had that been the killing blow after all? It took every bit of effort he could muster to look in their direction, to see Morrigan fight the assassin.

He was experienced, a trained killer, one of the best. Lance could only pray to whoever would listen that Morrigan would prove a match.

The assassin got in a few good blows, slamming her to the ground. He put his hands around her throat. She responded with a knee to his side, slamming him three times.

He budged, long enough for her to get behind him, grab his head in a rough headlock. She jerked left and right quickly, breaking his neck.

The assassin fell limp.

_Atta girl._

And then Flemeth descended upon Morrigan, savagely beating her. The poor girl was no match for her mother. She tried to get away, crawling and rolling. It didn't work.

Flemeth grabbed her daughter by the neck, held her against the ground.

Lance could hear her gag and choke. He wanted so badly to help her, to stand up and put one of his legendary displays of heroism, to live up to his title as Hero of Ferelden. But he couldn't. He could barely keep his eyes open.

He saw that Flemeth was so close to the ledge, he feared that she would simply drop Morrigan to the mercy of the Darkspawn below. She was dying now, her last bit of resistance fading.

Morrigan went slack, lips turning blue.

He wanted to scream, couldn't even manage that.

And then he saw the dagger near him, just within reach.

He forced his hand to rise, to work, to obey him. He felt like he was asking the sun to stop setting. It felt impossible; it felt like it would kill him.

Pain and fatigue wracked him, and he knew it was the end.

With a titanic force of effort, he grabbed the hilt of the dagger, lifted his arm.

He cocked back. Hoped against any possible hope that he could hurt the Witch of the Wilds, his great Nemesis.

And he sent the dagger flying.

Flemeth looked up, then, as though sensing the flying metal.

And she caught it, as easily as one might catch a ball. She smiled as she held the dagger, blade between her hands.

"You lose," she said.

And then Morrigan kicked her.

Flemeth's smile faded as her daughter connected with her chin, knocking her off balance, sending her toppling over the ledge.

Morrigan struggled to raise herself, to crawl towards the ledge to look over it down to the Darkspawn and her mother. If she saw anything, she didn't say.

Instead she dragged herself to where Lance lay, gasping for breath.

Quietly, she pulled herself up to him, cuddling as close to him as she could. She put her hand over his wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

He was breathing shallow now.

He could hear her breaths come in labored, wheezing gags.

"You died once, you know," she said. "When mother found you on top of that tower so long ago."

He didn't say anything. He couldn't. He felt cold, his vision went blurry.

"She brought you back, dead."

He could barely feel her head on his chest, hand covering the wound to prevent his bleeding out. It was too late. He'd lost too much blood already. His breath was short, small gasps that did nothing to sustain him.

"She brought you back to life. She made you live so that I could fulfill my purpose."

There was a brief hesitation, a shudder in her voice. He throat was raspy, probably damaged just as heavily by Flemeth's attack as he had been.

"Don't die," she whispered.

"I can't go yet," he said, voice weak. "I've still got a job to do."

Soon enough the only sound either could hear came from the Darkspawn horde below, and the faint keening that now permeated the lair.

_Welcome home to me, my Wardens._

And Lance realized that he was hearing the call of the Old Gods now, as strongly as ever. They were welcoming him among their number, their servants, as though he were one of their own.

And it wasn't hard to see that now.

He closed his eyes.

And he welcomed them in turn.


	34. Chapter 34

And then his eyes snapped open as he felt himself bodily lifted from the floor.

He could hear voices, though he struggled to make them out.

He panicked at first, feared that the Darkspawn had found him and were dragging him away. But then he felt a comforting hand on his forehead, whispered words that comforted him.

"You're okay," she said. "You'll make it."

"Morrigan?" he managed.

"She's alright. A little beat up, but nothing I can't fix."

He nodded, though it felt more like his head was bobbling from side to side. He heard more voices, growing ever more distant.

"You'll need immediate attention," someone said. "There is a Dalish clan that passes near here from time to time. I shall take you to them. They may help."

"Children," he mumbled.

"They fled into the Wilds," said someone, a Dwarf. Oghren? "We gave 'em a good licking. I always do!"

And he was slowly drifting out of consciousness, eyes fluttering. He wasn't sure if he slept for very long, or if he was awake. He didn't know if hours passed, or days. He'd been worse off, or so they said. He'd come back from it stronger.

He was pretty sure there had been mentions of dragons and great heights, and him doing something stupid.

Whispers in strange languages, and feelings of air in his veins. He couldn't be certain where he was, but the smell of jade comforted him and told him that he was okay.

Several days passed, he later learned, and he was well enough to walk about the Dalish camp.

The Elves had been wary of harboring a _Shemlen_, but word had reached these Elves of his efforts to help their kind during the Blight, and from Velanna herself about his redeeming qualities. He even told them of the King's plans to grant a plot of land to the Dalish, in thanks for their sacrifices for Ferelden.

He liked the Dalish, he'd decided.

The days were spent listening to tales, stories of times passed. He had a few of his own to share, to wow the children with.

On the last day of their stay in the camp Lance found Morrigan sitting near a small pool of water. It was crystal clear, thanks to Dalish magic, no doubt. He'd have to find some way to repay them, to thank them for helping him.

Perhaps he could even find a few Grey Wardens amongst their number. They had few enough Elves – or Dwarves for that matter.

"Hey," he said, smiling pleasantly at her. She looked up at him, a small smile on her lips, telling him that she was thinking of some rather serious things. Her black eye had healed quite a bit, now just a red splotch. A few more days and she'd be absolutely perfect again.

Too bad; he'd come to like her "wounded warrior" look.

"Hello, my Warden," she said. He sat down beside her, groaning past the ache in his knees.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"I was just sitting here. Thinking."

"What about?"

"Flemeth."

"Of course."

"She's still out there, you know," said Morrigan. "I do not think she can die. Not by our hands."

"I was beginning to think the same. Do you think she'll come after us? Still, I mean?"

"I do not know," said Morrigan. "For so long I only thought I knew her. As we can both see, I did not. I truly could not guess where she might go next, what she might do."

"Then I guess we'll have to find her first," said Lance. Morrigan gave him a strange look.

"Why?"

"Because she's out there," said Lance. "Because she's still scheming, trying to get what she wants. The Blight, the Architect… you. It was always because of her. I think she needs to know what it's like to be manipulated, destroyed."

"You dream very big, love."

"Maybe."

"You know, mother said one thing to me before we brought you back to life," Morrigan said. "One thing that I did not understand, not then."

"What?"

"She warned me that great change was coming. The world would change."

"It did, didn't it?"

"Because of one Blight? No, the world endured that with nary a passing interest."

Morrigan sighed, scooted a little closer to Lance.

"I think the change she referred to is yet to come. I think the whole world shall feel it."

"The world's been changing ever since I met you," said Lance. "It changed for me, anyways."

"You are sweet to say so," said Morrigan. "But I cannot shake the feeling that there is something… ominous on the horizon."

"Hm. I guess that's all the more reason to find you mother."

"Perhaps. She is not human. Nor is she an abomination."

"What is she then?"

"I do not know. More than we could know, I suspect."

"Then she'd better pray."

Morrigan furrowed her brow, curious as to his meaning.

"For that change."

She smiled and looked away, laughing to herself. "You are very headstrong."

"It's all I know."

Casually he put one arm around her shoulders. He sighed. Soon they would have to return to the Vigil, continue the business of Grey Wardening and righteous justice and all that. It was all so very tiring to him sometimes.

But, as he looked at Morrigan, he realized he wouldn't have it any other way.

He thought back to his mother and father and to Marna.

And he smiled to himself.

He knew he'd made them all very proud. And he was satisfied now.

"You know," said Morrigan. "When we get back there will be a lot of politicking to be done."

"Ah, hell," Lance muttered. He sighed. And then smiled. "But we don't have to go back for a while."

She leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder.

"I haven't told you today that I love you, have I?" he asked.

"You just did."

"I love you."

"I know."

And he stared into the clear water for a while, thinking about nothing in particular.

Whatever change was on the horizon, whatever plans and schemes Flemeth was cooking up, whatever villains were waiting to see the light of day… it somehow didn't matter.

Not now, not yet. There would be time for that.

The world would keep turning, as it always had, and he could only hope to do what little good he could with the time he had left to him.

And here, holding Morrigan, he was okay.

He was good.

He was the Hero of Ferelden, finally.

And he still had a job to do.


End file.
